Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again
by veritas6.5
Summary: Gwen doesn't want to move from this spot, ever again.
1. Chapter 1

Title: **Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again**, 1 of 4, complete

Author: veritas6_5  
>Fandom: Torchwood<br>Rating: M for adult situations  
>Pairing: Gwen alone<br>Words: 6,098  
>Warning: Character deaths and illness-related triggers<br>Classification: Ten years from now.  
>Genre: hurtcomfort, angst, new life  
>Disclaimer: All characters belong to BBC and RTD. I mean them no harm. No copyright infringement is intended. I just take them out to play with them. I'll put them right back.<p>

Beta: karaokegal, the finest ever

Summary: There's nowhere to go from here.

**A/N:** This was originally intended as a one-shot, but the second and third parts didn't want it that way. Now there are three parts and a coda. Please review. I'm reposting all the parts together for the sake of coherence.

**Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again **

1 of 4, complete

In the early afternoon of a Tuesday in July, after giving the cottage a quick clear up, Gwen Cooper-Williams picked up her knapsack, slung it across her shoulders, and headed out the door. She shook her hair out of its loose bun, pulled on a sunhat with a broad brim, and turned back to lock the door. It was a lovely, sunny day in midsummer, and she was off for an afternoon at the seashore. Living in Rhos-on-Sea in the far northern part of Wales was quite a change from living in a nice house in Cardiff.

Moving to the north was one of the many changes she had made to her life in the past year, she reflected as she scrambled over the scree, and up the hill that separated her valley from the sandy shore. She stopped for a moment at the top of the hill, looking down onto the little village to the west, and took a sip from her water bottle. Continuing downhill, she skirted the Promenade and found her way onto the beach. Colwyn Bay stretched out in front of her and further out, the Irish Sea. She moved to the quieter part of the beach, took a blanket from her knapsack, and laid it out. She settled in the sand, grateful for the warmth of the sun today, even though the lowering clouds out in the Bay promised a cooler walk home. She pulled out her notebook and pen, and opened to the page where she had last written, but then put the book and pen down on the blanket.

Staring out at the bay, she suspected the water was as warm as it would get this year, but not really warm, she was fascinated momentarily by a swimmer who cut through the waves offshore. From the power in the strokes, she judged it to be a man, and she watched him battle his way out to sea against the relentless incoming tide. Coming in would be easier, she thought, but the fight was where the challenge was. Clearly, the swimmer was interested in the challenge, but Gwen turned away from the sea, picking up her journal again.

"Too much challenge," she thought to herself, and settled down to read what she had written in her last entry. She had been advised that journaling would help her to deal with the changes in her life, and she dutifully wrote in it every day, even when it seemed like a pointless exercise. How could writing out her thoughts possibly be helpful, she wondered. What words were there to deal with the successive deaths of her husband and her ten-year-old daughter?

It was a nice little house; so much larger than their old flat that they didn't know how they would possibly fill all the rooms. It had a spacious living room, a lovely bay window that looked out into a small front garden, and a white fence separating it from the street. The window glass was made of individual panes that broke up the view into pleasing vignettes. There was a small fireplace with a gas fire, and a very secure surround on the hearth to keep baby hands away from the hot surfaces. There was no separate dining area, but rather a great room that combined a kitchen space and a more casual living area, opening out into a back garden that was shady and quite deep, going back farther than one might have guessed, seeing it from the street.

The baby's room was close to the master bedroom. The third bedroom was used mainly as an office for the days when Gwen chose to work at home rather than going to the reconstructed Hub.

This morning Gwen was in the sunny great room, feeding Anwen while Rhys made an early breakfast for himself and Gwen. "You know," she mused, while washing the baby's face, "I think we've managed quite well."

Rhys leaned over her to kiss her forehead. "Are you happy here, sweetheart?"

"Oh, yes," she said. She shifted in her chair as the baby started fussing, "will you be home early tonight?"

"As usual," he confirmed. "Are you coming in today?"

"No," she said. "The Rift has been quiet all week, and I have a full staff on call for the weekend. I'm just going to do a little work this morning, and laze about with Anwen in the back garden all afternoon."

Rhys put two plates on the table, and Gwen put Anwen into her bouncer at the side of the table. She sat down to breakfast with her husband and smiled happily. "I have a sitter lined up for seven pm. Anwen'll be asleep by then."

"And I have a reservation at La Ronde for half-past seven. It's a night on the town for us, m'dear." He tucked into his waffles.

"I am looking forward to tonight," she said. "The baby really has changed our lives, hasn't she?"

"She was meant to," he agreed. "But I can't say I'm sorry we are finally going to have a night out tonight. You know she'll be fine with a sitter for a few hours."

"There's a Torchwood monitor into her room," Gwen admitted. "I'll be able to hear her any time from my PDA." She grinned at his incredulous look. "Ok, it's mummy jitters," she said. "I just want to be sure she's all right."

"That's going to be brilliant during the movie," he said with a grin.

"Oh, you!" Gwen picked up her plate and put it into the sink. "Get off, then. And don't be late tonight."

She picked up the baby, let Rhys kiss his daughter's head, and headed to her office, before Rhys finished eating.

The past two years had been very difficult. Jack's abrupt departure and Gwen's pregnancy, together with the almost total destruction of the Cardiff Hub, had almost extinguished the very idea of Torchwood's continuing as a presence in Cardiff.

Surprisingly, UNIT had made a strong case for the rebuilding and restaffing of Cardiff under Gwen Cooper's direction. It was an unprecedented compromise between the UNIT forces and the decapitated Torchwood group. Gwen threw herself wholeheartedly into recruiting a new staff. She had only instinct to go on, and Rhys had been her first hire. He'd been on the periphery of the operation for years, and he knew more than anyone else available. Gwen had assigned him the rebuilding of the Hub, and now he was managing the transportation of various other components to the rebuilt headquarters.

Rift operations had been temporarily taken over by UNIT, who then began the training of Gwen's new hires. Fortunately, the Rift had been quiet for the first six months after the 456 disaster, and UNIT had been able to manage the slow increase. Gwen had taken only a few weeks off when Anwen was born. She and the baby became common sights in the rebuilt Hub.

Gwen took over the large and airy director's office that now sported a baby cot and playpen in the corner of the cheerful and brightly painted room. The reconstructed round window overlooked the main working area located below the office level, and the autopsy rooms were in a suite farther away from the offices. The water tower had been rebuilt central to the area, but the open water pond was covered by a glass floor.

Anwen became as much a part of the office as the regular staff, and all of the new people treated her like a mascot, always willing to take over her care if Gwen was needed elsewhere. When Anwen began to walk, Gwen and Rhys were both present to see her first steps, and the whole team celebrated along with them. There was still was plenty of urgency in Torchwood's work, of course, but great care was taken to make sure that the child wasn't exposed to any of the scarier aspects.

The working atmosphere in the new Torchwood was not, under Gwen's guidance, so intense as it had been when she first joined the team. Some of the change was due to a difference in governmental and public attitudes since the 456, and some was due to Gwen's leadership. She'd originally found it difficult to make the hard choices that arose almost daily. She made mistakes, she knew, during her learning period, and she tried hard to replicate Jack's leadership style, but in the end, she made her own choices, and the Hub was running smoothly.

The other new team members had adjusted well to their jobs. In addition to Rhys, who managed the physical plant and their transportation issues, a new computer wizard had joined them. Contrary to the stereotype, Billy Freeman was a charming young man with an instinctive knowledge of the computer networks that existed, and a strong propensity for rewriting and improving everything he came across. He was interested in everything, and thanks to him the clunky old Bluetooth com sets had been succeeded by small, hand-built brooches, customized for each agent, that drew no public attention and could be activated with a touch. Billy loved being around Anwen, and he was teaching her sign language so that they could communicate silently after she learned to talk.

Martha Jones stepped in to take over as the Torchwood medic. Not only did she give Gwen a sense of continuity and familiarity, but during her travels with Jack and the Doctor, she had encountered so many anomalies that the aliens, arcana, and life forms that came through the Rift didn't surprise her at all.

The two new field investigation officers had come to Gwen seeking a job with Torchwood. They had been working for the Yard, and become interested enough in the work that Torchwood had accomplished during the 456 period to seek out, through UNIT, an introduction to Gwen. Jenna Ferguson was tall and athletic with silvery hair, cut short. Sue Barclay was only five feet tall and "fluffy," as she described herself, pleasantly rounded, with a brilliant mind. Both were dynamic women, intuitive investigators, and serious workers.

Michael Wilkins doubled as their clerk and factotum in the office but could also work in the field as an auxiliary agent when they needed more feet on the ground. His demeanour was so unlike Ianto's that Gwen wondered if that wasn't more than half the idea of hiring him. Michael had a very active (and female) social agenda, and claimed that he had never worn a suit in his life. Gwen appreciated the fact that he also made killer lattes, although he was a tea-drinker himself.

Gwen opened the big computer on her office desk, and docked her hand-held to it. Billy had made their offices largely paperless, and she could access Torchwood files from almost anywhere. She sent a quick memo to the team, reminding them that she would be out of touch for several hours this evening, but that she would check in periodically.

Anwen tugged at Gwen's jacket and signed _outside_. Gwen laughed and said, "Ok, we'll go outside now," and picked her up to carry her to the back garden. Gwen brought the hand-held along with her, and set it down on a table while she played ball with Anwen. When the toddler tired of the game, she found something to amuse herself crawling around in the flower beds that Gwen's mother had planted. Gwen picked up her PDA and returned some calls, keeping a watchful eye out for the mischief her child might find.

After a while, bored with playing alone, Anwen came to ask her mama for a drink. Gwen reached into the basket for a sippy cup, and when she had had some juice, Anwen climbed up onto the bench and laid her head in Gwen's lap for a nap. Gwen continued to work, playing with the dark brown strands of her daughter's hair with her free hand.

Eight years ago, when Rhys had first noticed the weakness in his left knee, he thought it had been just the moving of too many boxes into the new house that had tired him out. When his left elbow started to bother him, Gwen insisted he see a doctor. The doctor ruled out normal muscle weakness and started a battery of tests that left Rhys cursing at the pointlessness of it all. But the weakness continued to spread throughout his body, and both of them knew it had turned into something serious. When his breathing became labored, and his language began to slur, they finally got a diagnosis.

Rhys had developed a degenerative motor-neuron disease that, over the course of six short years, stole most movement from his body; his ability to breathe, speak, and eat; it was unbelievable that so many systems could fail: diaphragm, tongue, arms and legs; leaving his mind untouched and terrified.

Gwen was grateful that they had already moved into the new house. There was a bedroom on the main floor, and it meant that, even when Rhys began to use a powered wheelchair, they just moved to the downstairs bedroom. When they had to get a hospital bed installed for Rhys, Gwen moved back upstairs. The king-sized bed was suddenly a vast expanse for one person sleeping alone. Gwen found that there was no end to the work of caring for an invalid, and turned the running of Torchwood over to Martha. For the last three years of his life, she stayed at home to be at hand for the increasing amount of attention Rhys needed.

Gwen took care of feeding Rhys through the PEG tube in his stomach, cleared the mucus from the breathing tube that forced air into his lungs, and changed his clothes. She hired caregivers, too, but preferred to participate in his care at first hand. She made sure that Anwen understood that Rhys was still part of their family, and the child had no fear of the wheelchair, and often climbed into Rhys's lap to watch movies with him, and generally to keep him company. She did her homework at a table next to him and excitedly told him about her school day when she came home.

Gwen was alone with Rhys that very late night when his eyes met hers with unusually frightening intensity. She held him as he sobbed, helpless to change anything, weeping herself. The sound coming from him was not the sweet voice that had soothed her for years, but bitter and gutteral grunting that had become the only noise he could make.

His eyes pleaded with her, running with tears, and all she could do was tuck the blanket across his legs, and hold his shoulders. She lifted his chin and pressed her lips against his, because sometimes her kisses calmed his fears. He couldn't even return her kisses, but he motioned her off to bed, placing his right hand over his heart and patted slowly, _I love you. _She kissed him again, and he pointed down to the ledge beside the bed where the breathing apparatus rested.

They had talked about this moment years ago, once they understood the course of the disease. Gwen gave Rhys a questioning look, and he nodded. She switched off the siren alert that would activate if there was any disruption to the breathing tube. She gave him the questioning look again, shaking her head in denial, but his expression relaxed into such peace that Gwen just kissed him again, exploring his face with her hands.

It was hard for Rhys to grasp anything, but he managed to dislodge the breathing tube from his throat. Gwen watched his chest sink slowly, without the air pressure to inflate his lungs again. He didn't appear to be struggling in any way, and he kept his eyes locked with hers until he finally fell into unconsciousness. She held him, pressing her lips to his lips, to his cheeks, and stroking his hair, until morning. Then she called Martha.

Martha took in the scene with one glance, and quietly switched the siren alert to the "on" position before she unplugged the machine for the last time.

_You were once my one companion,_

_You were all that mattered._

_You were once a friend and lover,_

_Then my world was shattered._

Gwen managed to get through the funeral, consoling her grieving daughter without any thought for herself. After the long period of Rhys's illness, she had run out of tears. She had done all that she could, but Anwen was not so well prepared to deal with the loss of her Dad, and became listless and unmotivated. She wouldn't sleep alone in her room, but only in her mother's bed.

Gwen wore herself out thinking of things that they could do that didn't involve being at home where Rhys had died. Gwen put all her energy into reviving Anwen. Her darling sweet little girl, with Gwen's dark hair and hazel eyes, but so much of the spirit of Rhys, his sense of humor, and his infectious laugh, began to smile again, and looked forward to school beginning again at the end of the summer.

Nothing in the world could have prepared Gwen for Andy Davidson's unexpected appearance at her door in late September, with news of a school bus accident that took five young lives.

Gwen's parents had tried to help her gather herself together. It was her father who suggested that perhaps a change of scenery might help Gwen to start over again. Geraint and Mary, of course, had expected that would mean that their daughter would come back to Swansea.

Gwen's decision to move as far away from Cardiff as she could get and still stay in Wales was _not_ what her parents expected. She enlisted an estate agent who found a small cottage in the far north, in Rhos-on-Sea, at the west side of Colwyn Bay. Gwen visited the cottage on a weekend trip, fell in love with the cool ocean breezes and the dunes, and bought it on the spot. She moved in, and disappeared into a quiet country life. Her parents called every week, and she was dutiful in answering their many questions about how she now spent her time, and what new friends she had met (she lied glibly). She endured their infrequent visits, and even one horrible weekend with Rhys's parents.

She wrote in her journal, and walked the hills, but all in all, she reflected, sitting on the beach in the warm sunshine, she had built herself a life in the north. She could have traveled, but she really wanted some stability and, for a while, a life free of challenges. The people she left behind at Torchwood four years ago were new people she didn't know and hadn't worked with. She kept in touch with Martha, but didn't work hard at it. The year before Rhys got sick, Jack Harkness had gone away again, despite his promises to tell her if he had to leave, and soon Gwen had too many new worries to spend any anger on Jack.

It was difficult to concentrate on the journal in the warm sunshine, and she couldn't make herself pick up the pen again. Gwen felt completely out of touch with the life she had lost. She read, cooked, and taught herself to knit. It was a quiet life, and she didn't miss the excitement she thought she had grown used to. Her mind was unsettled, but the therapist she had been seeing assured her that she would eventually heal and find new reasons for living. She doubted that. She was just marking time.

By the time she packed up her knapsack and headed for home, she had forgotten about the swimmer and his battle with the tide.

As Gwen prepared dinner for herself that evening, she thought again about the swimmer though, and imagined that he could be a metaphor for life, any life. You stroked hard, and it kept you afloat. Surges in the sea could swamp you at any time, but if you kept your wits about you, you adjusted your direction, or changed the amount of effort you expended, and you could still make progress.

Or you could just stop moving, put your head beneath the waves, and inhale deeply. She'd read that after that first gush of water hit your lungs, drowning wasn't so bad.

She sat down at her kitchen table, ladle in hand, to think about that for a few moments. On her stove, a pot boiled over, and she hurried to turn off the flame. She dropped the ladle in the sink, and moved to sit in the soft and comfortable chair in the corner of her living room. Pouring herself a glass of red wine, she sat in the darkening evening, thinking about all that she had lost in such a short while. "And yet, I go on," she whispered. "Why?"

_Well,_ she argued with herself silently, _there's that poem, 'Gas smells awful, nooses give…' _and that made her think about Jack Harkness for the first time in a long time. Jack had never been able to stop his wandering. _Wherever he is, does he ever have a thought about me? Does he know how my life has changed? How much loss had he endured in his long life? _ She had nothing but sympathy for him now, knowing how immeasurable the pain of such loss could be.

_Wishing you were somehow here again,_

_Wishing you were somehow near,_

_Sometimes it seemed, if I just dreamed,_

_Somehow you would be here. _

She guessed it had been the loss of Tosh and Owen, and finally Ianto, that had broken Jack, finally. How else to explain his unconscionable actions regarding Stephen and his daughter? He returned to Cardiff from time to time, but he never stayed for long. Cardiff held too many memories. He had no resonance with the rebuilt Hub. The Doctor had always been the only one who seemed to be able to make Jack whole again. She imagined that this time, maybe it was taking a lot longer, or maybe it just wasn't possible.

Gwen had believed that she couldn't endure a world without Jack in it. But suddenly, she realised that she hadn't given a serious thought to him for a very long time. Until this afternoon. The swimmer. It wasn't the powerful stroke that had caught her attention. It was an indefinable something that reminded her of the way Jack moved.

She stood up and rummaged in the drawer of her desk for her address book. She turned pages until she found Martha's number, and settled back into the soft chair with her cell in hand and waited for the number to connect. She was sipping at her wine when Martha picked up the call.

"Hello, Gwen! It's been a while since I've heard from you," Martha complained mildly.

Gwen made the kind of sounds she had gotten so good at in the last year, _Yes, I'm fine, I love it up here in the countryside, the sea air, the flowers, I'm fine, I'm making a sweater _(another glib lie), until there was a pause in the conversation. Gwen said, as nonchalantly as she could manage, "Martha, have you heard anything from Jack?"

Gwen could hear Martha take a deep breath before she answered. "As a matter of fact, I saw him a couple of weeks ago."

Gwen's stomach flip-flopped. She steadied herself before she could speak. "Where?"

Martha chattered on then, "He was here, at the Hub. He looks just the same, Gwen. Oh, and he asked about you."

"What did you tell him?" she asked.

"I told him everything. He wanted to know where you were."

"Did you tell him?"

"_What_ could I tell him? I don't know where you are, you never gave me a post address or anything. I just know you're somewhere in the north, near Betws-yn-Rhos or something."

Gwen chuckled, "No, Martha, _Rhos-on-Sea, _ in Conway, near Colwyn Bay." She rattled off her postal address. "Has he been back?"

"Haven't seen him since," Martha admitted. "He looked great, but Jack always looks great."

"Was he with the Doctor?"

"For a while," Martha said, "but not when he came here. I think he's just been roaming for a few years. There's a look in his eyes," she hesitated, "he's still searching for something."

Gwen kept silent. "Martha, if you see him again, please tell him where I am."

There was hesitation again. "If I see him, I'll be sure to tell him… Gwen, are you really okay?"

"Oh, Martha, it's so hard," Gwen whispered. "I'm okay, but it's day-to-day."

"If there's anything I can do for you," Martha said, "you know I'm right here."

"Yes," Gwen choked out. "I know, thanks." She ended the call. It was dark outside by then, and she sat in the dark for an hour, finally making her way wearily to bed.

The next day, Gwen went over the hill again to the beach, but it was cloudy, and the beach was deserted. She searched the sea for signs of the swimmer, but no one was in the water. She returned home a little dejected. Because of the darkness, she drifted through the house, turning on some lights, and came face to face with herself in the mirror over her desk.

She looked tired, that came as no surprise. But she was astounded at how pale and gaunt her face was. She hadn't worn makeup in a long time, and her features lacked definition. "I have let myself go," she said ruefully, and turned from the mirror. At least there was no grey in her hair. Yet.

Gwen flopped into her chair again, and picked up her knitting. "A sweater, hah!" she said, holding up the misshapen lump that was supposed to be a sleeve. "Oh, to hell with it," she said, laughing. Talking to herself, that was new, she observed, and laughed again, but this time, it ended in a sob.

She almost didn't hear the knock at the door.

She composed herself as best she could, and smoothed her face, wiping off the tear tracks. She opened the door.

It was Mrs. Owens, her nearest neighbour, who lived across the road and down a bit. "Mrs. Williams," she began, "I was in the post office today and talking to Mrs. Southey, the postmistress, you know. She said there had been a young man asking for you by name…" Her voice trailed off as Gwen's eyes lost focus on the woman's face and shifted to see a tall figure standing by the road. The light was too dim to make out his features through the drizzling rain, but she knew him. He took a tentative step towards her, and she turned back to Mrs. Owens.

"Thank you for bringing him here. He's an old friend, and I've been trying to contact him. We'll be fine from here. Shall I drive you home?"

"Oh, no, dear, I'll just walk down. Have a nice visit with your friend, Mrs. Williams," and the older woman put up her umbrella against the drizzle, and passed the man on her way back to the road, nodding, "Captain," as she passed him. The man thanked Mrs. Owens, but his eyes turned back to Gwen.

She waited in the doorway until he came up to the step, not believing her own eyes. "Was it you?" she asked breathlessly. "The other day?"

Jack seemed a bit confused. "Was it me where?" he said.

"Swimming in the sea," she said, still staring at him.

"The other day?" he asked. "I did go to the ocean," he said. "How did you know?"

"I saw you, but I didn't know it was you, until just a little while ago. The man I saw looked so familiar, but I couldn't see his face," she admitted.

"Were you expecting me?" he asked, still standing outside the door.

"Not in the least. I mean, no, how could I? I didn't know where you were, I hadn't…"

Jack reached out to touch her shoulder. "Are you going to invite me in? It is raining," he pointed out.

She backed into the house, opening the door wider. "Of course," she said. "Please come in."

Gwen watched his reactions as he entered her house. He looked around slowly, apparently trying to see her in this new place. She closed the door, and took his coat, hanging it on the coat rack. "It's good to see you, Jack," she said.

"I would have been here sooner," he apologized, "if I had known."

She turned back to him. "There was nothing you could have done." She forced a smile. "Can I make you a coffee?"

"Yes, thanks," he said.

Gwen retreated to the kitchen and plugged in the kettle. "It won't be up to your standards, I'm afraid," she murmured.

He took one of the chairs at the table. "Maybe my standards aren't what they once were." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, "I wish I had known."

She didn't reply. They both seemed embarrassed. The silence was broken only by the boiling of the kettle. Gwen loaded a French press with ground coffee and poured in hot water. They both watched the pot, not each other, as the coffee brewed. After a few minutes, she put familiar blue and white striped Cornish mugs on the table, he pressed the grounds to the bottom of the pot, and poured coffee into the mugs.

He lifted his mug while she added sugar and milk to hers. "Mmm," he murmured. "Very good for a rainy night."

She contemplated him over the rim of her coffee mug. "How did you find me?"

Jack shook his head. "Martha thought you were in Betws-yn-Rhos, but no one there had heard of you. I've just been working my way through every postmistress across northern Wales for the past few weeks."

"Interesting," she said. "Martha _said_ you hadn't changed."

"I have changed." He frowned. "More than you might think."

She bent over the coffee's steam. "Well, so have I."

Reaching for her hand, his voice dropped. "I'm sorry."

"For what, Jack? That Rhys died? For… my daughter?"

"For all of it," he said. "For you, having to do this all alone." He gestured at the cottage.

"I happen to like 'this'," she retorted. "I chose this place for myself."

He ran his hands through his wet hair. She handed him a dry towel without speaking. He dried his hair and then his hands. "It's really very nice. Distant. Quiet."

She sipped at her coffee. "It's what I needed."

"It's difficult to see you all alone like this," he said.

She stood up, poured her coffee down the drain, and picked up a half-empty wine bottle. "Want something harder?"

Jack shook his head no. Gwen poured wine into a glass and moved into the living room proper. She pressed a button on the wall by the fireplace and a fire lit itself in the grate. "Gas," she explained. "We don't burn wood anymore. Too much pollution." She sat in her chair by the window.

He joined her in the living room, sitting across from her, stretching his legs out. "I'm trying to apologise. For not being here. For not knowing. For running away again. For staying away so long."

Gwen waved her hand at him. "Your life here had ended. I've come to understand that. For quite a while, actually. Even before you left. Again."

He sat forward in the chair, hunching over his knees. "Look, I've never claimed to be trustworthy. I told you as much years ago."

She nodded. "I wasn't waiting for you, Jack. I handled it my own way."

"I know. I'm…"

"Stop saying that," she implored. "I'm not being a very good host am I? Out of practice." Gwen made herself smile tightly. "Where are you staying? Can I give you a lift back?"

"I was hoping you'd let me stay here with you," he said.

She gestured at the couch. "Of course. I wouldn't put you out into the rain." She stood up. "I'll get you a blanket and pillows."

Jack said, "I still don't sleep much."

"Neither do I," she said softly.

_No more memories, no more silent tears,_

_No more gazing across the wasted years._

_Try to forgive, teach me to live,_

_Give me the strength to try! _

The drizzle increased as the night went on, and the drumming of the rain against her windows woke Gwen. Her nightlight lit the room dimly, and she could see Jack standing in her doorway. "What are you doing there?" she asked.

"Watching you sleep," he said. "Or not sleep," he continued, coming into the room and sitting on the side of her bed. She took her time looking at him for the first time since he had appeared on her doorstep. He wore only boxers, and the dim light made his pale skin appear to glow, still all taut muscles, lean, and covered with flesh that looked as smooth as silk. Jack really hadn't changed at all, she observed. Almost ten years had passed, and he looked the same. At least on the outside.

Something Gwen hadn't felt for a long time surged through her, and she recognised it as an intense physical longing for the man in front of her. She wanted to touch him, and clenched her fists under the sheets to keep herself from reaching out. She could only stare at his face, his unblinking blue eyes.

"I'll leave, if you want me to," he offered, lowering his gaze from her face.

"No," she said quickly. "I don't." She hesitated, biting at her lip. "I'm glad that you went through so much trouble to find me."

"Me, too," he said. "And I should say it wasn't so much trouble, but it was. Those old biddies gave me the third degree every time. Very protective, most of them, but not your Mrs. Owens. When she overheard me speaking to the postmistress, she couldn't wait to bring me to you."

"She worries." Gwen sat up in the bed, pulling the sheets up to cover herself. "I haven't really been very social, and it drives her mad."

A nearby lightning strike lit the window and Gwen shivered. Jack reached out and his warm hand closed on her naked arm. She didn't pull away. He moved his other hand up to cup her cheek, and her hair swung forward to engulf his arm. She felt his hand begin to shake, and lifted her head. "What time is it?"

He checked his watch. "Almost five."

"Neither of us will be sleeping any more. May as well get up," she said, throwing back the covers and swinging her legs to the floor. She stood up and her nightgown swirled around her legs.

"You used to sleep in flannels," he observed. "That looks like silk."

She shrugged, and for the first time cracked a genuine smile. "People change."

He followed her into the living room, and this time he lit the fireplace. He smoothed the tangled blankets on the couch and sat down. He spread his arms wide, an invitation, and Gwen sat, pulled her legs up onto the cushions and rested her cheek against Jack's smooth chest, pulling the blanket over both of them.

He wound his arms tight around her. Her body trembled as she finally let herself cry, and he soothed her with soft murmuring sounds until she could stop. "I've been so alone," she whispered. "They all want to help, but no one understands what I need."

"I do," Jack said. "I know."

xxx

/lj-cut


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again,  
><strong>Part Two—The Perfection of the Moment<strong>  
>Author: veritas6_5<br>Fandom: Torchwood  
>Rating: M for adult situations<br>Pairing: Gwen C. and Jack H.  
>Words: 7,885<br>Classification: Ten years from now.  
>Genre: hurtcomfort, angst, new life  
>Disclaimer: All characters belong to BBC and RTD. I mean them no harm. No copyright infringement is intended. I just take them out to play with them. I'll put them right back.<p>

Beta: karaokegal, the finest ever

Summary: I don't want to move from this spot, ever again.

A/N: This was originally intended as a one-shot, but the second and third parts didn't want it that way. Now there are three parts and a coda. Please review. I'm reposting all the parts together for the sake of coherence.

**Part Two—The Perfection of the Moment**

_Every single joyous love story ends in death if you follow it long enough. The movies make life easier for us by usually stopping in the middle.—Roger Ebert_

Gwen woke up, unaware that she had slept at all. Her head was still on Jack's chest, and his arms were wrapped around her. She had stretched out while asleep, and was lying full length atop him head to toe, Jack having moved, somehow managing not to wake her. He shifted a little and spoke softly, only a rumble in her ear. "Awake?"

She stirred, still in that delicious half-asleep state, thrillingly aware of her cheek over his beating heart. "Mmm." She turned her head and put a hand up, reaching for his face. He intercepted her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing her fingertips.

She pulled back in surprise, waking completely. "Oh. Did we sleep?"

"You did."

"What time is it?"

"About half past nine." He shifted his right hand to look at his watch. "Nine thirty-five," he said. "You slept for almost four hours."

"And you didn't sleep?" She was still too logy to lift her head from his chest.

"I drowsed a bit. The rest of the time I spent counting the freckles on your face."

She raised her head to look into his eyes. "Still the eternal joker."

He lifted her hand again and he kissed the palm. "Shall we arise, my lady? I have to pee."

Gwen put one foot on the floor and pulled her hand away from Jack. "I'll put coffee on. You want coffee?"

"I always want coffee," he grumbled as he headed for the loo.

"Put some trousers on," she called after him, holding her tingling right hand to her cheek.

While he was dressing, Gwen hurried into her bedroom and pulled on clothing, joining him in the kitchen, as he pushed down the coffee press. She turned to the cupboards to get out fresh cups, and pulled milk from the refrigerator. They met at the table, and stopped, staring at each other before Gwen dropped her gaze, and sat primly at the table. Jack took the other chair, and sipped at his coffee.

"So," Gwen began brightly, "How long do you think you'll stay in the area?"

He chuckled. "Do you think I crisscrossed northern Wales looking for you, just to stop in for a cup of coffee?"

She was silent. Cold chills crept down her back.

"I was searching for you, Gwen," he said quietly. "I think it's about time we had that talk we've always avoided."

She remained silent.

"Do you know what I mean?" he asked.

Her hand started to shake as she tried to pour milk into her coffee and the milk spattered on the tabletop. She jumped up to get a towel, but he rose just as quickly, and, putting one arm around her waist, took the towel from her hand and dropped it on the table.

"It's only spilt milk," he remarked, and put both arms around her.

"What do you want from me, Jack?" she asked, trembling from head to toe.

"I don't know, Gwen. What do you want from me?"

She shook her head, "I don't know." She paused. "Please let me go."

He released her and she wiped up the milk and sat at the table again, picking up her cup and taking several small sips. She drew a shuddering breath. "I'm not sure I can answer that. The person I used to be . . . the person you used to know, is long gone."

"You don't sleep well, do you?"

"No."

Jack held out a hand to her. "Neither do I. But you slept in my arms." She put her hand in his, and his long fingers enveloped her hand.

"You don't have to talk about it," he said. "I've heard the whole story. I want to help you."

Her eyes began to water. She shook her head and wiped away the tears. "How?"

"I know it seems impossible." He squeezed her hand. "I know."

Gwen looked directly into his bluer-than-blue eyes. "I can't believe you're really here. I thought I was dreaming." She took back her hand to refill her cup and his, emptying the pot. "When I woke up in the night and saw you standing there, you were glowing like an angel, how do you do that? I was sure it was a dream, or I had gone mad." She paused. "I've been expecting to go mad for quite some time now."

Jack nodded. "I know."

"If I were mad, this is exactly what you would be saying to me, isn't it?"

He laughed. "You're not mad, Gwen. I'm really here. I'd like to stay for a while. Do you think Mrs. Owens will mind?"

She forced a small smile, "I'll be the talk of the village," she admitted, "but Mrs. Owens will be secretly glad."

"And you?"

"Not so secretly glad." She managed a smile again. "But I'm afraid you've come on a fool's errand."

He drew himself up with mock indignity. "I'm no fool."

"No," she apologised hurriedly, "of course not, but . . . I don't know what to do with you, Jack!"

"I know what to do with you," his smile had the hint of a leer in it. "But let's save that discussion for later." He stood up from the table and took her hand again. "Come on, show me around. Let's see what drew you so far from Cardiff."

"Partly that," she said, "It's far from Cardiff." She looked out the window. "It's a beautiful sunny day. Like the day I spotted you in the sea."

"We can take a lunch to the beach," he said. "Just talk. Lot of stories to tell you. Places I've been. Things I've seen."

The beach was warm, and after their picnic was gone, Jack asked if Gwen would mind if he went for a swim. Gwen held on to his hand a moment too long, and finally she just said, "Don't go out so far today. Please come back."

He laughed. "Nothing could keep me away." He stripped down to his shorts and ran to the water's edge, making a long, low dive into the waves and stroking his way out almost as far as the rip current. Swimming on Earth was a totally different sensation than swimming in Boe. And there was no threat of invasion from the skies. The water was cooler here, and he loved the weightlessness of being in a salty sea. He porpoised, diving down a bit for the sheer joy of coming up to sweet air. He raised his head from the water from time to time to spot Gwen's place on the beach so he could keep an eye on her. The sensation of the water slipping over him was so pleasurable, that he swam back and forth along the line of the current until he started to tire. Finally, he made his way back in slowly, trudging up the beach shedding saltwater.

As Jack came close enough to see Gwen clearly, he could see that she was white as a sheet, and he dropped to his knees in front of her, "What is it? What's wrong?" His hands were wet and cool and he touched her face, her cheeks, the back of her neck. She was showing signs of distress and couldn't seem to catch her breath. He pulled her to her knees and pressed himself against her, soaking her clothes. "Breathe, Gwen," he coaxed.

Her deepening breath came as a long shuddering gasp. "I couldn't see where you were," she managed to say. "You were so far . . . away."

He held her close, her hair clinging to his wet skin. He took her hand and pressed it to his cheek. "I'm here, I'm right here with you."

She started to pant. "I'm sorry, I don't know what happened . . ." she managed between breaths. She clutched at him tightly. "Don't disappear like that again."

Jack kept talking to her softly, assuring her, reassuring her. After a few moments, she was able to loosen her grasp on him and he grabbed at his clothes, pulling them on, ignoring the fact that he was still dripping wet. He picked up his coat, and wrapped it around her to warm her. He sat her back down on the blanket and lay next to her. "Okay now?"

Gwen nodded and pulled his coat up around her neck. She inhaled deeply.

"Let's get you home," he said, and he gathered up the blanket and they set off on the path back to her house. His coat was too long for her, and she was tripping on the tails. They stopped so he could exchange his coat for their blanket, wrapping it around Gwen.

"You're soaking wet, you'll catch a chill," she observed, in a small voice.

"I'll be fine," he replied.

The walk back to the cottage seemed shorter than the walk down to the beach had been. He opened the door and they stumbled inside. Gwen dropped the blanket, took his coat to hang it on the coat stand, and pushed him towards the shower, following him.

She turned the water on and reached in to test the temperature. "Into the shower with you, take off your wet clothes, and get warmed up." Jack obediently shed his damp clothing, and stepped into the shower cabinet. He reached out and pulled her in with him. He turned her to face him, the water beating down on both of them, wetting her clothes, her hair, and her body pressed against him. He closed the shower door, making a wet and warm enclosure for them. He reached to pull her shirt off over her head, but she stopped him. "No," she said. "You first."

She took the shower gel and squeezed some into her hands and rubbed it across his body. He let her soapy hands roam along his arms, neck, chest, down his legs, rubbing soapy circles on his back, gently cupping his buttocks, finally gently cleaning his groin. His erection was no surprise to either of them, but she just kept washing him, then rinsing him. She put shampoo in his hair, lathered, and rinsed it. When he was clean, she opened the door and gestured for him to get out of the shower.

"What about you?" he inquired, his voice husky.

"Wait for me," she said, pulling the door closed. She took off her clothes and threw them out of the shower stall, and took her time about washing her hair and body, acutely aware of him just outside the steamed-up glass door. When she turned the shower off, he handed a towel in to her, but when she stepped out of the stall, he was gone. She finished drying her body, towel-dried her hair, and went looking for him.

Gwen found Jack in her bedroom, naked on her bed, leaning against the headboard. The afternoon sun haloed around him. She was wrapped in a towel, and she gestured that he should lie back on the bed. He did, not speaking. She looked at him carefully, as if she were trying to memorise his body.

His smooth skin really did seem to glow. It was flawless. She felt like she was seeing him for the first time. Long muscular legs. A small patch of light brown, curly hair wreathed his genitals. Flat stomach, narrow hips, carrying a bit more flesh around his waist than she remembered. His shoulders were wide, and she knew the feeling of his arms wrapped around her. His piercing blue eyes showed faint laugh lines at the corners. His lips were spread in a megawatt grin as he watched her careful examination.

"Seen enough?" he asked.

"Yes," she said solemnly, "but now I have to touch you." She reached out and repeated the meticulous inspection with her fingertips, closing her eyes now and then, raising goosebumps on his flesh as she touched and smoothed her way along his limbs, torso, and chest, tracing the pectoral muscles rising smoothly from the not-quite-rippling abs. She avoided touching his groin, but smoothed the hair under his arms and on his head. She let her fingers trail into the deep hollow of the suprasternal notch at the base of his throat. Finally, she held his cheeks and kissed his forehead. "You're real enough." She sat on the edge of the bed, and pulled on her underwear and clothing quickly.

He protested. "Hey, don't I get a chance?"

"Not yet," she said firmly.

"That's not fair," he said.

"Life's not fair, is it?" she said quietly. "I had to make sure I wasn't going crazy and imagining you."

"Some imagination you have," he grumbled, "if you still thought I wasn't real after that."

"I didn't say that," she said, leaving him sprawled on her bed.

Jack watched her leave the bedroom, puzzled. He hadn't expected her to leave. She had seemed so happy to see him, and the whole shower thing had seemed to allay her fears from the beach. He was certain that her careful examination was the prelude to making love, and then she had—just walked away.

When Jack had put on some clothes, he joined Gwen in the kitchen, and pulled out a chair from the table. She put a plate with little bites of food on it in front of him. He took a piece and ate it. "Gwen," he said, "you learned to cook?"

"Well," she admitted, "you can get these at the Asda, and just warm them through." She put one into her mouth, "Tasty, though."

Watching her carefully, he ate another one. "But you're cooking dinner?"

"Yeah," she said. "I did learn to cook. I had to, I had," she stopped abruptly ". . . a family to feed," she finally choked out. Jack stood up and Gwen came willingly into his arms. "Does this pain ever go away?" she asked.

"No," he said sadly, stroking her hair. "But you can find a way to live with it inside you. Grief is a terrible gift, but forgetting isn't the only answer. They'll always be alive in your heart."

"How many live in _your_ heart?" she asked.

"Many. But that's not a reason to stop reaching out." He hugged her tightly and put his chin on top of her head. "You're still in this world, and so am I. Wounded people have to keep living. With other people."

Gwen sniffled. "Did you come here to teach me that lesson?"

Jack looked at her sideways, and heard her take a sharp breath. "I didn't come to teach you anything." He let her go and went into the living room to flop on the couch. "I had selfish reasons for searching you out."

"Which were?" She stood with her hands on her hips, a spoon in her hand, the dinner cooking on the stove totally forgotten.

He had trouble looking straight at her. "I had come back to Cardiff to clear up . . . some personal business. I know I should have acted on it years ago . . ." Jack looked up at Gwen and he suspected she could see sadness in his eyes. "You never would have known I was here if you were happy and safe. I would have left again, I could have lived with it, never bothered you, never seen you again, but . . . when Martha told me about what had happened to Rhys and Anwen," and he looked up at her, "I hoped maybe . . . maybe . . . I could see you."

She ran to him and knelt at his feet, her hands on his knees, looking up into his eyes. "Oh, Jack, back then our hearts belonged to other people. You had Ianto, I had Rhys. There was never a time . . ."

"What about now," he said. "Couldn't I . . . help you? I'm kind of an expert on loss," he said ruefully.

She reached up to wipe moisture from his eyes, and caressed his cheek. "I don't know." She climbed up onto the couch to nestle against him. "Can't we just let it be?"

He took one of her hands to his mouth and kissed her palm again, as he had earlier that day. "For a while."

"You are such an idiot," she said bitterly, but then her voice softened. "There hasn't been a day since I met you that I didn't love you. Sometimes as a friend, sometimes as a leader, and but mostly, as a dream I couldn't really have. Wait. Be patient. See what happens."

"I've been very patient," he said. "What are _you_ waiting for?"

"The right moment, I guess," she admitted. "Now that you're actually here, I'm finding that I'm oddly . . ."

Something erupted volcanically on the range, and they broke apart quickly to turn off the heat, and try to salvage something of dinner. They stood together looking at the mess on the floor. Jack poked a little round lump. "What's that?"

"A radish," Gwen said. There were several similar lumps in the brownish mess on the floor.

"What was this supposed to be?" Jack finally asked.

"Stew," Gwen said.

"There are no radishes in stew," he said, shaking his head.

"It seemed like a good idea at the time. How did they get out of the pot?"

"I think they were trying to escape," he said.

"I was going to make mash, too." She stood back, looking at the distance between the stove and the floor. Suddenly, she giggled.

Jack regarded Gwen with a half-grin on his face, but couldn't stop at that and began to laugh full out. Soon they were both whooping, feeding off each other's giddiness. Gwen sat down and held her sides, gasping for air. Jack tried to stop himself, but one look at her smiling face and they both dissolved again.

It was such a release to laugh. Emotions had been running high for both of them all day. Jack was mildly frustrated, and he could only guess at the trepidation Gwen must have been feeling. It was far easier to laugh than to have to plumb the depths of her anxiety. He knew she'd have to face it eventually, and he was content to talk about the spoiled dinner for now.

Jack said he thought the mess on the floor didn't even look like food anymore, and rather reminded him of something you might find in a weevil's nest.

"I guess I'm out of practise," she choked out.

"Nobody's that hungry," he said, pointing to the mess on the floor, and they both giggled.

They stepped over the congealing glop on the floor, and moved to sit side by side on the couch, quieting down. "Where's the nearest pub?" he asked, "or do you want something more formal?"

Gwen gestured towards town. "The pub is a nice one," she stood up and offered him her hand to get up. He pulled her down instead and surrounded her with his arms, touching his lips to her neck. He licked slowly up her throat and found his way to her lips, kissing her gently. Jack pulled her hand to his lips, and took one of her fingers into his mouth, sucking at it insistently. Shifting a little, he held her head, one hand twined in her hair, the other hand at the back of her neck, keeping her close. Their kiss deepened, teeth and tongues, until finally they broke apart to breathe.

She struggled free and made him stand up. "Dinner first."

The sun was setting as they drove to the pub. It was a Friday night, and the pub was crowded and noisy. "How did it get so late?" Gwen said. "Didn't we just have lunch?"

"It's been an eternity since we had lunch," Jack lamented through a mouthful of deep-fried skate. His fishy grin almost triggered her into another round of laughter.

She settled for snickering. "Don't make me laugh again, I'll be snorting ale out my nose!"

Jack was drinking only still water, but Gwen drank enough ale so that he could see that she was ever-so-slightly pissed, and they stayed until closing time, playing darts, dancing, talking, and kissing playfully. Jack guided Gwen home, and half-carried her into the cottage. She struggled to her feet and stepped across the room, still dancing. He took her by the hand and led her into the bedroom. She flopped onto the bed and Jack dragged her boots off. She lay back, singing out of tune, then she stopped wriggling, and let him remove her jeans.

"Are you going to have your way with me?" she inquired coyly.

Jack smiled. "Not a chance. You're done for tonight."

"That was such fun," she said. "I can't remember the last time I laughed so much!"

He slipped her nightgown over her head and smoothed it down over her hips, tipped her into bed, and flipped the coverlet over her. "Glad you had a good time. Sleep on it."

"Don't want to go to sleep!" she pouted, already losing the battle to keep her eyes open.

"I'll leave the light on," he said, caressing her face. "Sleep well."

She murmured sleepily, "I'll sleep better if you sleep with me." She patted the other side of the bed. "Come on, Jack," she crooned. "I won't molest you." Then she was asleep.

He shook his head, and went into the other room. He poured two fingers of whiskey from his flask into a small glass and listened to Gwen's quiet breathing for a few minutes. When the whiskey was done, he put down the glass, hung up his coat, and strode into the bedroom, dropping his braces on the way.

Gwen woke in the night with a pounding headache, staggered to the bathroom, returned to the bed and snuggled up against the warm body she found there, falling back to sleep. Her head still ached when she woke to the morning sun, so she pulled the sheet over her head and went back to sleep, his body still nestled against her back.

When she woke up again, she was alone in the bed, the headache just a dull throb. She threw back the covers and rolled out of bed, drawn to the kitchen by the smell of coffee.

She threw herself into a chair, and Jack put a cup of hot coffee in front of her, sweet and whitened, the way she liked it. "You've saved my life," she muttered.

He chuckled and sat down across from her. He nudged a plate of toast and jam across the table to her, and she pushed it away, moaning into her coffee. "I'm _never_ going to drink that much again, never," she whined.

Halfway through her second cup, she looked up blearily at Jack. "Did we . . . ?"

He shook his head. "We didn't."

"I was pretty drunk."

"You were," he agreed.

"I had a wonderful time."

"You did."

"You put me to bed . . ."

"I did."

"And you did sleep with me?"

"I was in your bed, yes."

"You held me?"

"Yes."

"But we didn't . . . ?"

"No."

"Why not?" she asked.

"I wouldn't have enjoyed it if you couldn't be there for it," he said dryly.

She was greatly amused. "Thanks for waiting for me," she said, only a little surprised.

"It was the gentlemanly thing to do."

She chuckled, then put a hand to her stricken head. "There are aspirin in the cabinet to the left of the range," she whispered.

Two aspirin appeared on the table in front of her, along with a glass of water. She slugged them back and stood up. "I have to go back to bed for a while. Will you stay?"

"Yes," he said. "I will."

When Gwen woke up again a few hours later, she managed to put on some clothes, brush her teeth, and comb her hair. Presentable, she went out to the lounge and found Jack stretched out on the couch, a book in his hands. He put a bookmark into the page and closed the book. "How are we feeling?"

She smiled. "We're feeling much better, thank you. And thank you."

He nodded. "I'd like to tell you that it was a pleasure, but I would have to lie."

"Well, I appreciate your honesty. And your forbearance." She gestured to the book in is hands. "I see you found something to read?"

He held up the book. "Had it in my pocket. Say, is there a chance we could take a quick drive over to Manchester to pick up my stuff? These clothes are a little, ah, lived in, and I have a lot more in a bag in a locker at the airport."

She nodded quickly. "Yes, of course. I should have asked earlier . . . are you really planning to stay here?"

For the first time, he looked uncomfortable. "Unless . . . ?"

"Oh, no, no," she protested. "Stay, do." She bit her lip. "Please stay with me. For a while, at least."

Driving to Manchester in comfortable silence, Jack was extremely conscious of Gwen's aching head. He drove more carefully than usual, and finally she spoke very quietly. "You didn't say that you love me."

"What?"

"I said that I had always loved you, and you didn't say anything."

"I told you that I wanted to be with you."

"That's not the same thing, is it?" She cocked her head and regarded him seriously. She must have been thinking about this for a while, and at this very moment an answer seemed to be imperative.

He drew the car to the side of the road and stopped it. "No, I guess it isn't." He stared straight ahead. He thought about the last time he had considered loving someone, and the time before that, going back in his life. It hardly ever turned out well. Over time, Jack had come to think of his fixed-point condition as a jinx, and sex was always slicker without love. But it was hard to deny, even to himself, that what he felt for Gwen—had always felt—was a deep emotional attachment, and he was simply afraid to admit that. Because when you admit it, even only to yourself, other people can get badly hurt.

"Um, say something," she urged him.

"I can't," he said.

"You can't?" she said, louder than she intended, and he winced.

"Not because I don't. I am trying. Gwen, _not because I don't,_ see! It's because . . . I've come to realise . . . what I've learned in all these years, wandering the universe, is that as long as you're in the world, and I'm not with you, I'm just not . . . alive."

She wiped a tear from her eye. "So you want me to say it to you, even though you can't say it to me, and it's not ok for you to outlive me, because, because, why?"

"I have this overwhelming need for you. I have to believe that if I can take good enough care of you, I won't have to be lonely again . . ."

Gwen stopped him with a hand over his mouth, and he turned to face her. She said, "But you were trying to tell me that grief is a good thing because you keep people alive forever in your heart. Won't you have me forever in your heart?"

Jack pulled her into his arms. "You must know that already."

"No one has touched me for a very long time," she said. "I want it to be you. If I'm honest, you were right that first day, when you told me I'd never get tired of following you. I will follow you forever. _Forever,_ you . . . idiot."

His lips were next to her ear, his whisper tickled the air. "I do love you, Gwen. I've loved you since the first moment I saw you."

"Drive," she said abruptly, taking a deep breath. She pulled away from him and pushed his shoulder, hard. "Drive _now_. Get us to Manchester as fast as you can. The sooner we get there, the sooner we can head back to the cottage. Hurry!"

Jack got them back to Wales in record time, driving very fast, even for him. His duffle in the boot made banging sounds as it rolled back and forth with the force of his abrupt turns. Gwen honestly didn't know if she was supposed to be more thrilled or fearful. She kept stealing glances at Jack's face, but she needed him to be focused on keeping the car on the road, and didn't want to distract him. Her tension level heightened, and, as though he knew it, and without taking his eyes from the road, Jack put a hand on her leg. She felt the reassurance of his hand through her jeans, and put her hand on top of his.

He grinned at her. "Nervous?" he asked.

She nodded, forcing a smile. "Strange, isn't it, after all this time? This feels like our first date."

He laughed out loud. "Yeah, but with no curfew. Just you and me."

"Yeah," she sighed. She realised that her sigh sounded less than enthusiastic, and cast a worried look at Jack.

He turned to her and smiled gently, before turning back to the road, and that did more to relieve her worries than anything else. He let up on the accelerator, and slowed the car to a more legal speed. Gwen took another deep breath and squeezed his hand.

Jack pulled the car up at the back of the house, and turned it off. The car grew quiet, ticking away the engine's heat, and he turned to Gwen. "Do you just want to sit in the car for a while?"

She shook her head. "I don't know what's come over me, Jack. I feel paralysed."

Things weren't going according to plan for Jack just now. He was sure that by now they'd have been in bed, but she seemed to be trying to delay that in any way that she could. He didn't understand why. She had been afraid she'd lost him at the beach, eager for him before the drive to Manchester, and now she seemed to just want him to leave her alone. He decided to play along with her delaying tactics. He got out of the car, came around to her door and opened it. "C'mon," he put out his hand. "Look, it's a beautiful day, and it's early in the afternoon."

She stepped out of the car. "I'm okay. Just . . . a little bit apprehensive."

"I know you are. Let's do something simple this afternoon. I'll put my stuff away, and you put together supplies for a little hike: some water, some snacks; put them in your backpack. We'll take books, sit in the sunshine, and just have a quiet day."

Gwen brightened. "Okay, that sounds great." She leaned in to kiss his cheek. "How did you know the right thing to say?"

" I'm rubbish at it," he snorted, "And you know that."

Gwen stopped to look at herself in the mirror over the desk. Jack walked up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. The desperately tired look was mostly gone from her face, and her eyes were shining. Her whole face was brighter, he could see it. She shook her head, making her hair swing. She looked . . . contented. He grinned at her from over her shoulder. Contented. He hadn't seen that look on her for a long time.

He put his lips to her ear. "We're not in any hurry, Gwen," he whispered. "Let's just have a nice afternoon."

She broke away from him with a quick smile. "Just give me a second to get stuff together and get a sunhat."

They drove toward Mount Snowdon, but didn't get very far before they found a perfect spot with a tree and a grassy lea. Jack spread out the blanket in the sun, and took off his coat, bunching it up to make a pillow for Gwen. She lay back, pulling her sunhat over to shade her face. There was just enough breeze to make it comfortable in the sunshine.

"Want your book?" he asked her.

She was drowsy, breathing softly. He chuckled, took out his book, and settled down to read, but soon put it down and rolled to one side to prop his head on his hand and look down at her. He placed his arm across her gently, and she took his hand and pressed it to her heart.

They stayed a few hours, not really sleeping, not talking, but Jack could practically see Gwen's body relax, the tension slipping away with the rest of her hangover. Jack alternated between reading and just watching her rest. The cool of afternoon chilled her and she touched Jack's shoulder. "Let's go home," she said quietly. He smiled at her, pocketing his book, shaking out his coat, and slipping it on. Gwen gathered up the miscellaneous snack bags, and put them back into her pack with the empty Thermos. She shook out the blanket and pulled on a sweater. Jack put his arm around her back, and took the pack from her, slinging it over his other shoulder.

"Shall we go to dinner in town?" he proposed. "Someplace quieter than the pub?"

She nodded. "I know a place. We can go casual."

He stopped and opened both arms wide. "Casual."

"And that's fine," she pulled his arm back across her shoulder. "I'll just freshen up a little and comb my hair," she said in agreement.

He pressed her closer. "No worries," he replied.

They drove into town for a quiet dinner, and the little restaurant Gwen chose was uncrowded and intimate. She found herself relaxing in Jack's presence, and just being able to look across the table at him made her feel better. She was starting, just starting, to believe that maybe, maybe . . . He could also relax. She seemed ready to accept him. He hoped that was true.

Jack drove them slowly home, passing the turn for Gwen's street in favor of driving a bit farther out of town. The light was brilliant out in the countryside, as the moon rose over the Little Orme. He stopped the car and they got out just to watch it clear the rocks. Jack stood behind Gwen with his arms, and his coat, wrapped around her.

The air was pleasingly cool and the moon rose quickly, only taking a few minutes to show her face. "It's lovely," Gwen murmured.

"We should go and see the moons rise from the blue beaches of Woman Wept," he said. They have three moons: one white one, two blue ones; and they rise together every eighteen years. Rose Tyler told me about it, and I've always wanted to see it."

She turned to him and he let her bury her face in his shirt front. He hugged her tightly for a minute, and they returned to the car, and he drove back towards home.

Coming through the front door, Gwen reached to turn on the lights, but Jack stayed her hand. "I don't think we need the lights," he whispered, "the moonlight is so bright." He led her directly to the bedroom, "and I don't need light to see you."

They undressed in the dark on opposite sides of the bed. Gwen hesitated, and put her nightgown on, letting it fall over her body. Jack lay on the bed and pulled back the covers for her. She glimpsed his naked body lit by the moonlight and lay down tentatively on the other side of the bed. He opened his arms and she rolled into his embrace. He closed his arms around her, pressing his hands to her silk-covered back. "Do you need the night clothes?" he asked.

"Just for a while," she said, haltingly. "It's been a long time."

His warm hands moved up and down her body, sliding on the silk. When he spoke again, his voice was husky again. "Gwen, please."

" 'Arbella,'" she quoted to him, giggling a little, " 'lift your linens.'"

His hands stopped their movement. "Lift whose linens?"

In the darkness, Gwen's voice danced with humour, "I think it was Sir Isaac Johnson, in the Massachusetts Bay Colony, who supposedly said it. When he wanted to have conjugal relations with his wife, he would say, 'Arbella, lift your linens.' They were Puritans." She drew her gown over her head and settled back into the bed, naked, spooning in Jack's eager arms. "I guess we know each other well enough to dispense with that formality." He gathered her close. "I hope so," he said, kissing the back of her neck while his hands moved down the front of her body, smoothing, soothing, making her writhe happily.

She struggled to stretch out atop him then, to feel his erection press against her belly. She shifted up, so that he could slide between her legs, where she captured him. "Jack," she whispered. "Can you wait a little bit more?"

He murmured into her hair, "Do you need more time?"

Gwen rubbed her face against his chest, dreamily. "I want to savour this moment with you. It's been a long time coming." She licked at his skin. "I'll never get used to how good you taste," she marveled. "Can you imagine how many times I've slipped into sleep pleasing myself by imagining this . . . just this?"

His breathing quickened and his heartbeat increased. He pulled her closer with a hand on her bottom, pressing himself against her. "Only this?" he asked, moving his other hand into her hair, massaging her neck gently. "No more than this?"

She moaned with pleasure, and pressed her free hand between them, reaching down to touch him, which made him shiver a bit. "It's been a long, long time since I've been with a man," Gwen said, "I want to be sure it's easy for both of us."

He moved one hand to displace hers, and smoothly slipped a finger into her. "It will be easy, you're ready."

She pushed his hand away, and guided him into her. "Slowly, now," she said. "I want to feel it all."

Jack complied, slowing his penetration. She made tiny soft sounds as he pressed himself deeper, and finally stopped, his entire length sheathed within her. She moved slightly, tentatively, her inner muscles contracting to keep him in place. "Stay there," she said, as her body rippled against him.

"That feels amazing, Gwen." He gasped, and his head fell back against the pillow. She didn't stop the movement, but she could feel his body tense with his efforts not to come too soon. She pushed his hands up by his head and braced herself, holding his wrists.

"For me, too," she assured him. She let go of his arms and lay flat against him again, letting his hands return to playing across her back, while she caressed his face, fingertips tracing the features she had loved for so long. When her hands touched his lips, he opened his mouth to take them, licking at her fingers, and sucking them into his mouth, sucking hard. She gave herself up, sighing from the deepest part of her body.

"I'm going to move now," he said, "if you're ready." She nodded assent, and he began to slide out and into her again, with increasing pressure, making her gasp. Somehow, he turned her, and loomed over her as she lay on her back. His thrusting became steady and strong. She held tightly to him, relishing every bit of friction. She started to pant under him, and he slowed his motion, knowing she was on the verge of her climax. He increased his speed again then, thrusting into her, and bringing her over the edge.

As Gwen's shuddering shivering slowed, Jack lifted himself on his arms, looked down at her, and biting at his lip, deliberately allowed himself to come inside her, watching her. Her eyes were unfocussed as she blinked, long lashes brushing her cheeks, which burned with a sexy flush.

She looked at him with longing, and her mouth spread wide in a smile, showing the gap in her front teeth (which Jack had always said had an erotic effect on him). She ran her tongue over her teeth, and said, "Wow!"

Jack grinned at her. "It'll be even better next time." Holding her tightly, he rolled to the side, pulling her along, and she clasped him to her, trying to keep him inside her until the last possible minute.

To her surprise, he remained hard inside her, moving gently at the same time as he ran his free hand up her back, up into her hair again, and bent his head down to capture her mouth for a lingering kiss. She opened her mouth to him. When he withdrew, he made a lascivious job of licking the moisture from her lips and chin and cheeks. She started to giggle at his industriousness, and he pulled away from her, pretend hurt darkening his eyes.

"Something's funny?"

She just looked up at him, her face wet with his saliva, and said, "I can't be anything but happy." He moved inside her again, just so, and she came again, shuddering in his arms. He kissed her, holding her tightly, and slowly withdrew.

After a few moments, she moved to get up from the bed, and he stopped her with a gentle hand. "Stay here," and he got up bring back warm towels, and he washed and dried her gently, then cleaned himself before getting back into the bed to cuddle her.

She relished his caresses and repeated her explorations of his body from the day before, now moving her hands over him with certainty. He trailed kisses across her body, and down her legs, down her arms, and she tried to touch every inch of his skin. They knelt together in the middle of the big bed. Her skin flushed and moisture formed on both their faces. She was carefully kissing and licking every inch of his face when he grinned at her again. "Ready for another go?"

Gwen relaxed back onto the bed, stretching out luxuriously. The moonlight was only at the bottom of the bed now, and the darkness was almost complete in the room. They paused for a moment to savour the perfection of the moment before Jack raised himself over her. He paused before parting her legs and entering her again, more aggressively this time, and she rose to meet him. The lovemaking was more intense, and somehow even more satisfying than the first time.

"Jack," Gwen complained gently, after their third coupling, "I'm starting to feel just a tiny bit . . . sore, now." He laughed into her armpit, where he was currently licking her, and she struck out with a soft blow to his arse.

"If it's spanking you want," he threatened.

"No, it's sleeping I want, you bugger. You've worn me out." She rolled away from his hand, and pulled the duvet up over herself. "Want to join me for a bit of rejuvenating sleep, so we can do all of this again tomorrow?"

He nodded and burrowed beneath the duvet to embrace her. She fell asleep cradled in his arms, but not before she noted that the sun was brightening the windows.

Jack watched with some amusement as Gwen threw her clothes on willy-nilly, while hopping around the room looking for her shoes.

"Tell me again," he said slowly, "why you have to get dressed and go out, right now, this minute?"

"Mrs. Owens has asked me to tea this afternoon and has invited some of the other neighbours, and she worries enough about me. I don't need her to come down here to fetch me and find that _you_ are lounging naked in my bed." She found her Chucks and tied the laces, stopping by the bed to give him a very quick kiss in the middle of his chest, and a tickle under his chin before running for the door.

There was a knock at her door, and she made a silly and resigned face at Jack from the bedroom door. She sped out the front door, closing it tight behind her, and almost knocked over Mrs. Owens, who was standing on the doorstep. "Mrs. Williams," the older lady said, "I was afraid something had happened to delay you. You do remember our tea, don't you?"

"Oh yes, Mrs. Owens, of course I do. Sorry, I must have just overslept." Gwen bit her lip hard; it was four o'clock in the afternoon.

Mrs. Owens linked arms with Gwen, and they sauntered slowly across the road. "Did you have a nice visit with your Captain this week? Is he in our military?"

"Not anymore," Gwen said. "Not for quite a while."

"Still fancies the coat, though."

Gwen smiled a little. "He's always liked the flair of it. Thank you for bringing him to me." She looked back over her shoulder and saw Jack, bouncing naked in the window of the bedroom, apparently determined to embarrass her with his antics.

She blushed deeply and turned her attention back to Mrs. Owens to distract her from looking back at the window. "And he'll be staying with me for a while. He's been away, and just needs a bit of a break before his next . . . job."

"Poor dear," Mrs. Owens said, "he looked a bit tired when I met him in the post office, but just hearing your name brightened him right up. Was he a friend of your husband's?"

"Yes," Gwen admitted. "We've known him for a long time." She nodded, thinking of what she could say while trying to fill out her story. "He's been a good friend to our family."

"Well, I hope you'll settle with us, and once you meet more of our local people, you'll feel at home here too."

Gwen patted the older woman's hand. "Mrs. Owens, don't you think that you could just call me Gwen? After all, you were the first person I met when I moved in. That makes you my friend of longest standing here."

Mrs. Owens just laughed, "Then I suppose you must call me Louisa, Gwen. And the rest of the ladies will just assume I am your oldest friend."

Gwen actually enjoyed a few hours with Louisa's friends, all of whom were over seventy. They were very kind ladies, and quite funny. When she left to stagger home, Gwen was pretty sure the punch, if not also the tea, had been spiked, and the humour had become more ribald towards the end of the party. Gwen marveled at what they would have had to talk about if they had seen Jack cavorting at her bedroom window.

She let herself in the front door, calling out hello to Jack. The rooms were silent, and she went looking for him in the bedroom. He had made up the bed with fresh sheets, but wasn't anywhere in the house. She looked out the kitchen window and saw that her car was also gone. Then she found the note on the kitchen table. _Shopping for dinner stuff. Home soon._ Six little words that lightened her heart. She danced into the bedroom to change her clothes, choosing a loose dress and leaving her shoes behind. It seemed stuffy in the house, so she opened all the windows to let in the early evening air.

By the time she was sat in her chair by the window, Jack was back, lugging three shopping bags full of food into the kitchen. He dropped the bags and picked her up in a giant hug, swinging her into the air. "You had no food in the house."

"So you had to buy enough for a whole week?"

"If we don't have to leave the house," he explained in a soft, slightly lewd drawl, "we won't have to put on clothes for a week."

"Brilliant," she said, with a little thrill up her spine. "Shall we start now?"

"In a minute," he said, putting foodstuffs away. "How was your afternoon with the ladies?"

She smiled broadly. "They are a bunch of grand old dames," she said. "You'd have been in your element with them. I'm pretty sure there was whiskey in the teapot, and I'm a little loopy. Funny women. Beauties in their day, I'm sure."

"I might have known some of them," he mused.

"You might have, at that," she concurred.

He looked up at her sideways, that look again, and said nothing.

She looked back at him over her shoulder as she took a step towards the bedroom, and he followed.

xxx


	3. Chapter 3

Title: **Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again, **  
><strong>Part Three—When You Tell Me that You Love Me<strong>  
>Author: veritas6_5<br>Fandom: Torchwood and just a little Doctor Who (Eleventh Doctor)  
>Rating: M for adult situations<br>Pairing: Gwen C. and Jack H.  
>Words: 12,663<br>Warning: Bad dreams  
>Classification: Ten years from now.<br>Genre: hurt/comfort, angst, new life  
>Disclaimer: All characters belong to BBC and RTD. I mean them no harm. No copyright infringement is intended. I just take them out to play with them. I'll put them right back.<p>

Beta: karaokegal, the finest ever

Summary: Maybe there is somewhere to go from here, after all.

**A/N:** This was originally intended as a one-shot, but the second and third parts didn't want it that way. Now there are three parts and a coda. Please review. I'm reposting all the parts together for the sake of coherence.

**Part Three—When You Tell Me that You Love Me**

Without fanfare, Jack moved in, and it seemed to Gwen that they inhabited the secluded little house as if they had built it for themselves. Gwen felt in her deepest being that this life-changing thing was really meant to be. She was completely aware of the effect Jack had always had on her, and she reveled in letting herself be consumed by it.

It was getting easier for Gwen to realise, finally, that she was free to be with Jack. When Jack had looked into her eyes and said that without her, he couldn't see any usefulness to his long life, she felt like he had opened a window into a brighter universe than the one she'd been living in for the past three years, and she was now flying free in that wonderful space. She had never allowed herself the luxury of enjoying Jack's attention before, and it was exhilarating.

Since Jack had reappeared in her life, she often thought about how different this relationship was from her marriage to Rhys. She had loved Rhys with all her heart. He was devoted to her. He had withstood those early days of her job with Torchwood, when she had lied about everything to him. When he learned the truth, well, most of the truth about her job, he had managed to assimilate what she told him, and accepted her for what she was and what she did. In Rhys, she had what few women ever get to experience, an uncompromising, unquestioning, unconditional faith that let him overlook what she knew to be her most serious faults: her pride, her selfishness, her fears that someone, someday, would find out just how insecure she was.

Gwen had spent a lot of effort in her first months at Torchwood trying to find ways to keep her powerful attraction and attachment to Jack from changing the way she looked at Rhys. Jack's persona was so overwhelming that anyone else was bound to come second when he was in the equation. Jack must have recognised and understood her inherent pride, selfishness, and insecurities—he seemed to reflect them right back to her from inside himself. Gwen had felt that she and Jack were so alike, each trying to convince the world that they had none of those faults. It made them vulnerable, especially to each other.

Then Ianto Jones had _happened_ to Jack, a _coup de foudre,_ a thunderbolt from nowhere, and Jack had given Ianto a totally new perspective. Jack adored everything about Ianto, from his pale Welsh complexion to his deep voice and his shapely arse. Ianto was a beautiful boy, Gwen admitted, and he had grown up in terrible circumstances, but his spirit was pure, and she'd loved him too. He had become her close friend, her confidant, and her second reason for continuing to resist Jack's persistent overtures. 'Quaint categories,' indeed. Gwen knew what she saw. She could tell that Ianto was clearly smitten with Jack. Of Jack's feelings, she wasn't so sure.

Accepting Jack into her life also meant that Gwen accepted his quirks and foibles, and she suspected that there would be some interesting discussions coming up between them, once the first warm honeymoon months were over. Jack remained an enigma wrapped in a paradox. There were still so many things he didn't say, wouldn't broach. The worst part of it was that she didn't even want to ask him any of those difficult questions now. She just wanted the bliss to continue unchecked. She didn't want the peace that they were sharing to be disturbed.

She didn't know what started that train of thought, but as she sat on the beach, watching Jack swim in the bay, she huddled deeper into her jacket. Mid-September was surprisingly cool, and she knew when he got out of the water and into the chilly air, they would rush home to a warm shower, and the rest of the afternoon in bed. The very thought made her shiver. She swallowed hard, and hugged her arms to her chest. Making love with Jack was such an intensely pleasurable sensation (made all the more precious to her for the delay in consummation). He was so tender with her,and such a generous lover, that Gwen thought that she had never been so content.

Her life had bloomed to a degree that she wouldn't have believed possible. She had been very lonely in her first months in northern Wales, and seriously wondered if she had made a tragic error just trying to get far away from Cardiff. She met her next door neighbour, Mrs. Owens, and hardly anyone else. Her personal tragedies had turned her inward, made her life small. Jack's apparently newfound gregariousness saw to it that as a couple, they made new friends all over town. He had even managed to angle a part-time job for himself, teaching two sections of physics at the university.

Once Louisa Owens figured out Gwen-and-Jack as one unit, she proceeded to insinuate herself into Jack's good graces. Jack turned his attention to enlisting her to enlarge their new circle of friends. Jack had even been accepted into Mrs. Owens's group teas, the only man so honoured, and he delighted in their gossip as much as they delighted in his showy charm and old-fashioned gentility. He loved those older women, and loved being adored by them.

Of course, in the confines of a small neighbourhood in a small town, there was also an undercurrent of wonder about the nature of their relationship. Gwen declined to discuss it. Most of the women knew she had been widowed, although some ungenerously assumed that Jack was a gigolo. He roared with laughter when he heard that rumour, and started growing a pencil-thin moustache. Gwen had shaved half of it off him one morning when he was asleep.

After weeks of making love in the afternoon, in the morning, and all through the night, Gwen thought surely at some time, the frequency of their need for each other must necessarily decrease, but it didn't. She would wake in the night and find him watching her, and when he saw that she was awake, their desire for each other would heat up again, the craving, adoration, friction, skin-to-skin contact, feathery kisses, thrusting, angels in song . . . Sometimes she could look at his face in repose and simply marvel at his beauty, the glorious perfection, the glow, the luscious scent that was only Jack's, the fine smoothness of his skin, the blue eyes that could burn with desire and also comfort her with deep understanding . . . his long fingers on her body or twined in her hair . . .

Gwen was shocked from her reveries by the cold drops of water falling on her face. Jack leaned over her, wrapped in his big towel, grinning, his lips blue from the cold. "Want to go home?" he said, through chattering teeth. "That might just be my last swim this year!" Gwen got up from her spot out of the wind, and they ran for home, stumbling in their haste to get quickly to that hot shower, and each other.

The breeze was particularly chilly that night, blowing the curtains away from the sills, and Jack pulled the covers up over Gwen's shoulders. It was probably going to be one of the last nights they would be able to keep all the windows open at night. Gwen had fallen asleep early, lulled by the soughing of the wind through the trees in the garden. Jack stayed awake a bit longer, reading. As he reached to put his book down, and turned to look at Gwen as she slept by his side, he felt a warm flush rise in his face, and considered how they had nearly missed each other. He had loved her for more than twelve years of her linear time, and he still saw her as that curious, tenacious PC who had found a way into the secret spaces of Torchwood.

_I want to call the stars down from the sky,__I want to live a day that never dies,  
><em>_I want to change the world only for you,  
><em>_All the impossible, I want to do.  
><em>_I want to hold you close under the rain,_

_I want to kiss your smile and feel the pain,  
><em>_I know it's beautiful, looking at you,  
><em>_In a world of lies, you are the truth._

Her eyelashes made shadows on her freckled cheek, and he reached out to push her hair off her neck, resisting the urge to kiss her awake. He had been with enough partners in his time to wonder what it was that made her so special to him, in this time, in this place. There had been many men and women in his life, he had made outstanding memories with some of them, but everyone else, and everything else, were eclipsed by the surge of emotions he felt when he thought about Gwen now. Touching her, breathing the same air, gave him a sense of security that he had lost . . . years and lifetimes ago.

He wondered if he might eventually have found that elusive security with Ianto, but his life had been drastically altered by circumstances completely out of his control. Roaming disjointedly across the universe after the disaster of the 456 had emphasized only his extreme inability to settle, literally or figuratively, anywhere, and he eventually realized that it was Gwen who drew him back to Cardiff again and again.

_I want to make you see just what I was,  
><em>_Show you the loneliness and what it does.  
><em>_You walked into my life to stop the tears,  
><em>_Everything's easy now I have you near._

Jack turned off the light, slid down into the bed, and pulled the blankets up around his shoulders. He spooned Gwen from behind and held her loosely. He draped one arm over her, and she took his hand between her breasts. He breathed her in deeply, the scent of her clean skin, her shampoo, not quite able to fall asleep.

He was disturbed from his restless half-sleep by Gwen's twitching and tossing in the bed, whimpering softly at first, then crying out. He tried to calm her, but she woke, startled, with a shuddering gasp. "I've got you, Gwen. It's ok, I've got you," he soothed, but she was deep in her dream, and couldn't see or hear him, although her eyes were wide open.

Jack struggled to hold her until she focused her eyes to recognise him. Her arms were clutched across her chest, and she was curled up tight. Her breathing was raspy and jagged until she seemed to gain some control, relax, and sip from the glass of water that Jack had fetched for her.

She returned the glass to him with shaking hands, and he climbed back into the bed, pulling up the duvet to warm her, holding her close as she trembled in the aftermath of her dream. She laid her tear-stained face against his chest where she could feel the comfort of his heart beating against her cheek.

Jack ran his fingers through her hair. He loved touching her hair, and it seemed to settle her. "What was that?" he inquired softly, letting the strands trickle through his fingers.

She couldn't answer him for a long minute, and finally murmured, "Bad dream."

"Want to talk about it?" he said.

"Fear," she said in a low tone. "Fear and death."

Jack knew words were useless. He just held her, rocking gently until he felt the trembling ease and the tension begin to leave her body. Her hands were cold, and he pressed them against himself, twining his legs with hers to warm her feet. He wanted her to feel safe, comforted, and loved.

Jack tried to talk to her about the dream in the morning, but Gwen retreated into a place he couldn't reach. She was mostly silent, but he saw tears slipping down her cheeks from time to time. She slumped in her chair holding, but not reading, a book. When Jack pointed out that the book was upside down, he drew a small smile from her, but she simply turned the book around and continued the pretence of reading.

He paced the small room, helpless, and finally leaned over, kissed the top of her head, and lifted her out of her chair to settle her next to him on the couch. "Was it about Rhys or Anwen?" he said.

Gwen startled for a moment. "Why would you think that?" she said.

"You were devastated. You would only say it was about death," he responded.

"No, it wasn't about . . . them." She shook her head.

She closed her eyes and leaned her head on his shoulder, and rubbed her cheek against his throat until she felt/heard the rumble of his voice. "Stop that," he said, "talk to me."

"There were these metal rods," she admitted, "impaling me, and my blood was all over me, and pooling at my feet. I couldn't move. I was desperate, lonely, frightened. I felt like I had lost everything I cared about." She pressed closer against him, and took a deep breath. "I'm glad you were holding me when I woke up."

He held her tight, stroking her hair until she pulled away. She exhaled through a smile, "I don't know where that fear came from. I haven't lost you. You're always there for me. We've barely been apart from each other long enough to use the loo . . ."

"Feeling smothered?" he inquired, turning his head and craning to look into her eyes.

"Oh, no, Jack!" She knelt on the couch next to him, capturing his face between her hands, "No, how could I?" She opened his shirt and pushed her arms around him under his clothing. "I can't get enough of you!" She leaned in to kiss him behind his ear, nipping at his earlobe, and, licking down the side of his neck, murmured "salty," and nibbled around to the front of his throat, and down across his chest . . . as he pushed her hair aside and whispered into her ear.

She let go of him only long enough to unbuckle his belt, unbutton his flies, reach into his trousers with her hand, and then it was just a maelstrom of discarded clothing, and a teasing and giddy race to the seclusion of the bedroom.

Jack was still holding her loosely afterwards. Relaxed, slightly sleepy, Gwen drawled into Jack's closest ear, "If you really loved me, you would make me a big cup of tea."

He roused himself only enough to wave a careless hand over her face and say, "_Presto, _you're a big cup of tea."

She giggled, which he found unreasonably charming, and he got up from the bed and went quietly into the kitchen to put the kettle on. When he returned with two mugs of tea, she had pulled the sheets on the bed taut again, and propped the pillows against the headboard so that when he climbed into the bed, she could lean back against him in her favorite (sitting-up-in-bed) position. They sipped at their tea, and he asked again.

"I need you to talk more about your dream, Gwen."

"Jack," she said. "It was a bad dream. Let it go. Don't you ever have bad dreams?"

He snorted, "Of course I do. And sometimes it's the pizza or the curry."

"We didn't have pizza or curry," she said. "It was just a bad dream. But the utter desperation of being alone, unwanted. That was the hardest thing." She snuggled tighter into his arms.

"You do know how important you are to me?" he asked.

"You brought me tea," she said languidly, sipping from her cup.

"Are you afraid I'll leave you?" He tensed and could tell that she felt the change in his body. He thought it was the thing she feared the most, that she wasn't going to be enough, that eventually he would run.

She shook her head, and a little of her tea spilled on him. She patted him dry with one corner of the sheet. "No. You promised," she said softly.

"Think I'm trustworthy?"

She turned around, putting her mug down on the table. "Yes, I do. Aren't you?"

He smiled tightly. "Trying to be." He knew that was what she needed to hear. He needed to find a way to make her understand that it was true.

She twisted around fully to look into his eyes. "Am I making it hard for you, with these dreams?"

"No. . . no, not at all," he said deliberately.

"Is it difficult? I know this shouldn't be happening."

"I'd rather be here with you," he paused, "than anywhere else without you."

When her nightmares returned the next night, and with increasing frequency over the next weeks, Jack began to worry more seriously. When he could get her to talk about it, Gwen always described a horrific descent into death. Every time the nightmare came, it was different, and each time she woke, screaming or moaning in terror, it took her longer to shake off the effects.

She dreamed of drowning, being dismembered, being immolated, and worse. Helpless to prevent any of it, unable to move, in crushing darkness, alone except for a laughing voice shouting epithets and insults. The worst thing, she insisted, was the feeling of being lost, alone, abandoned.

"Gwen," Jack said, finally, after one particularly difficult morning after, "I think we need to do something about this. I want you to talk to someone, maybe Martha?"

Gwen studied her movements carefully as she pulled on her clothes, and bowed her head. "Martha, ok, but no one else. I'm so tired," she sobbed. "And I'm scared," Gwen insisted. "We have to wait until she's at home so she can talk freely."

Huddled in her chair while Jack phoned Martha that night, Gwen was exhausted, afraid to sleep, and had drunk enough caffeine over the course of the day to make her shaky. After some initial banter, he explained the purpose of his call, and Martha asked a few questions. Jack answered her, explaining what Gwen had been able to recall. Martha teased out a few more details, and then Martha said, "Jack, do you want me to come up there this weekend?"

Jack cast a quick look at Gwen and said, "Yes." Decisively. "Soon as you can."

"What do you mean?" Gwen hissed. "I don't need a doctor."

"Not just a doctor. Martha's a friend," he said fiercely. "As soon as you can," Jack repeated. He snapped the phone closed.

Gwen moved from her chair to his welcoming arms, and settled herself against him. "I don't want to go to sleep tonight."

"Martha can't get here before week's end . . ."

"I'm not going to sleep," she said firmly.

"I can think of a number of things to do with you that will keep you awake," he suggested with a sly grin, kissing her hand, and taking her fingers into his mouth one at a time. "I'm sure I can amuse you all night long."

Soon, she pulled herself out of his arms. "I'm taking the first shower tonight. You used up all the hot water this morning." Only a few minutes later, wrapped in a towel, she came into the bedroom, hair wet, skin fragrant and dewy from the shower. Jack was lounging naked on the bed, a pillow across his hips. He handed her a glass half full of amber liquid. She sniffed it. "That's whiskey, Jack," she protested. "I don't drink whiskey."

"Tonight, my love, you drink whiskey. You drink as much as you can, and I promise you, tonight there will be no dreams."

"I'll only be drunk, Jack," she scoffed. "And oh, the hangover . . ."

He soothed her with his hands, and tipped the glass to her lips. "I'll be here with you, all night. Hell, we'll drink together." He poured liquor into a second glass, saluted her with some words in a language she'd never heard, and took a sip. He nudged her to drink again.

"What did you just say?"

"I wished you a long and happy life. Now let's drink."

"You don't even get drunk," she complained, choking after a fiery swallow.

"Oh, but I do," he said. "It just takes longer, and we have lots of time." He pulled her onto the bed, threw her towel to the floor, and pressed his naked body against hers, "lots of time." He was already aroused and their lovemaking was slow and sweet. She closed her eyes, and he distracted her for a time.

After her climax, Gwen took control of Jack. She marked him with love bites high on his inner thighs, before taking him into her mouth. He arched, and she slipped her hands beneath him, cupping his scrotum in one hand and his buttocks with the other, scratching gently at him with her fingernails. He clenched his muscles, and she smiled, letting him feel her teeth. She released him, moved above him, and settled him deeply into herself again, laying against his body. With contractions, Gwen was able to bring Jack to a shivering finish. He took several deep breaths and said weakly, "Did you always know how to do that?"

She giggled and went to the bath to get washing flannels.

"I'm pouring you more whiskey," he called to her, and she was smiling when she came back and cleaned him thoroughly before climbing back into the bed.

"Do your worst, Harkness," she challenged, and tossed back a healthy slug. They played all the drinking games they could think of: kissing in between drinks; longer, deeper kisses filled with longing, bigger drinks.

She was right about him, though. The drink didn't affect him as quickly as it affected her, and soon she was giddy and couldn't really control her hands. "These aren't my hands," she complained, staring at her spread fingers. "I can't lift the glass, I have to stop."

Jack lifted the glass to her lips. "I'll help you, sweetheart."

She reached out and stayed his hand, pushing the liquor away. "How do you come to be calling me 'sweetheart,' Jack?"

"You always had pet names for the others. You used to call Tosh 'sweetie' and Ianto 'pet,' and Owen . . . well, ok, mostly I remember you calling him a wanker, but you never used a pet name for me. Why was that?"

"You were my boss," she explained patiently, as if instructing a child.

"I see," he observed, and turned his sideways look on her. "Are you not my sweetheart now?"

She blushed, "Okay, let's say I am. When did _you_ start with pet names?"

"I'm not your boss any more. We're lovers. Don't you like being called 'sweetheart?'"

She regarded him solemnly and said slowly, "Rhys used to call me 'sweetheart'."

"I'm sorry," he apologised. "Do you want me to stop?"

"It brings back happy thoughts," she mused. "Of better times with Rhys, before he got so sick. He really loved me, beyond all reason."

Jack tilted his head. "I remember telling you that he loved you dearly."

She nodded with a soft smile. "I know . . ."

Jack looked at her with an appraising stare. "I could call you 'Pumpkin' instead."

"Don't you dare," she retorted.

"How about 'Sweetums'?"

"That's a life-sized Muppet."

" Or 'Pooky,' 'Turtle-dove,' or, no, I have it—'Puss'!"

She tried to hit him with a pillow, but was far too drunk to aim it.

"I love it when you call me your sweetheart," she announced, trying to put her arms around his neck seductively, and almost falling off the bed. He righted her and set her back against the headboard. "Call me your sweetheart again, so I can hear _you_ say it."

Jack held the glass to her lips again, "Take another sip, my sweetheart."

She sipped, sighed, and said, "I thought that stuff was foul, but it's starting to taste really good." She cocked her head to look at him. "You don't say it right, you know. It's _sweet-,_ with the emphasis on pronouncing the 't'; -_heart,_ again, you have to hit the 't' just so. _Swee__t__-hear__t__!"_

"I'm not Welsh," he said back to her, "I pronounce the vowels as well as the consonants. _Swee__t__-hear__t__._" He handed her the glass again, and she took it and drained it.

"I'm done," she announced, and fell over sideways in the bed.

Jack leaned over Gwen, checked to see that she was breathing easily, and settled her more comfortably. He covered her with the duvet, and laid down next to her, taking her into his arms. She was completely passed out, and he hoped that meant that she would sleep peacefully.

Within an hour, Gwen woke up retching, startling Jack into action. He hurriedly pulled the wastebasket up from the floor and she obligingly vomited into it. He held her hair out of the stream, and wiped her face when she stopped vomiting. She turned wide eyes up to face him, and fell over again, asleep.

Late in the morning, she woke him by pummeling him ineffectually with her fists. "I feel like shit, Jack!"

He fended off her blows by holding her against himself. "It'll get better. Did you dream?"

"No," she admitted. "But I'm pretty sure I gakked."

Jack laid his hand against her cheek. "I cleaned it up."

She nodded, and kissed his hand. "Thank you for taking care of me."

"I always have," he whispered.

_Every time you touch me, I become a hero,  
><em>_I'll make you safe, no matter where you are.  
><em>_And bring you everything you ask for, nothing is above me,  
><em>_I'm shining like an candle in the dark,  
><em>_When you tell me that you love me._

The nightmares didn't stop.

Gwen couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, and Jack was relieved on Friday afternoon when he left for Manchester to pick Martha up. After greeting Martha with a hug, walking out to the car park, Martha asked more questions, and he explained as best he could as they drove back to Wales in Gwen's car. She regarded him clinically. "You look different, too," she said, finally.

"I'm happy," he said. "No Torchwood, no responsibility for anyone but ourselves. I'm elated, over the moon. But I'm worried about Gwen. These dreams are not doing her any good."

"Have you considered asking the . . ." she started.

Jack's face paled, and he set his jaw. "He made it quite clear that my problems are beneath his notice."

Martha had never heard his voice colder. She shivered. "What does your empathic sense tell you about these dreams?"

"Not prying. Everyone's entitled to their own mind." He glanced at her. "What made you ask that?"

"Well, Gwen told me, when we talked a day or so after your call, that you two have barely been out of physical contact in weeks. How do you manage to maintain your mental distance?"

"Good training," he growled.

"Touchy," she observed. "That's one symptom."

"Of what?" he asked.

"You don't usually speak to me in that tone," she said, somewhat hurt. "I only came up here to help Gwen and you're gonna get shirty with me?"

Jack drove on in silence.

"Give, Jack," Martha urged. "You know something."

More silence from Jack's side. Martha looked out the window.

His voice was low and tight when he finally did answer her. "I'm pretty sure," he said in a controlled tone, "there's been a transference . . ."

Martha feigned disinterest, keeping her eyes on the passing landscape.

"She's remembering the year-that-never-was." Jack stated in a flat voice.

"How do you know?"

He kept his eyes on the road.

Martha snorted. "Jack, for heaven's sake, use that fifty-first century brain you keep in your head! What do you think happens when two organisms are in intimate contact for long periods of time?"

He shrugged.

"She doesn't know anything about that year. Or did you tell her?" Martha asked him directly.

"I didn't tell her anything. But she's reliving the ways that the Master killed me, and she's going through them as me, in my place," he admitted. "I thought I was under control, and I'm not even aware that I'm still thinking about it on a conscious level, but somehow she's getting it from me. She's so scared, the same way I was scared . . ." Jack turned his eyes from the road for a second to see if she was looking at him. She was.

"What are you afraid of now, Jack?"

"Me?"

"Something is bringing these fears of yours out. It's been a long time since the year-that-never-was. You say you're happy and content, but you're projecting fears at her, and she's interpreting them as her own dreams. What are you afraid of?"

He drove on, breathing deeply, trying to formulate an answer. "I don't want to lose her now. If I'm projecting, I have to find a way to stop it. She's already had to bear too much."

"So how do we get you to stop?"

In a rare expression of anger, Jack pounded his hands on the steering wheel, "I don't goddamn know!"

"We could try calling . . ." she began.

He silenced her with a look. "I can't."

"I can," she said.

"You can try," he challenged. "But don't be surprised if he refuses."

Martha rolled her eyes.

Jack turned the car into the driveway beside the house. Gwen came out the garden door, ran to Martha and hugged her. "It has been far too long since I've seen you!" she cried.

Martha hugged Gwen back. "You're looking well, honey," Martha said. She turned to raise an eyebrow at Jack, who was getting her case out of the boot. He carried it into the house, leaving the women to come in together, holding hands. Martha lifted Gwen's hand and examined it closely. "Gwen, you're skin and bones."

Gwen snatched her hand back, "Well . . . it's been hard, Martha, until Jack . . ."

Jack came up to stand next to Gwen, and she slipped a proprietary arm around his waist, lifting her other hand to touch his cheek. She rested her head against him.

Martha observed them together, and a smile curved her lips. "I've never seen two people happier," she said. "It sure took you long enough to get there."

Over a simple dinner that Jack set out in the dining room, Gwen regaled Martha with some stories from the drunken night that had, in fact, produced no dreams, but a noteworthy, world-class hangover. Jack chimed in, adding the little details that Gwen had omitted, and they laughed a lot.

The clinical observer in Martha observed that Gwen and Jack were in constantly touching each other; fingertips to cheek, a random kiss, a hand on a leg under the table. He lifted Gwen's hair to sweep it away from her face when she leaned across the table to make a point. She touched the corner of his mouth to flick away a crumb.

While Gwen cleared the table and washed the few dishes, Martha took Jack's arm and pulled him into the lounge. "There is never more than a minute when you aren't touching each other. I'm thinking about your transference idea. Tell me a bit more about how your empathic sense works."

"I can control it."

She shook her head. "I don't think so. You may be trying the best you know how, but it isn't working," she said. "I don't know that much about it, but in my opinion, you're definitely transjoined."

Gwen came into the room and settled into her chair, smiling at them. "What are you two whispering about?"

"We're talking about your nightmares," Martha said, "and what's causing them."

Gwen's smile faded, and a pinched look came over her face. "You've figured it out already?" She stood up and moved toward Jack.

"Don't sit with Jack right now," Martha said quickly. "Jack, you go over there. Gwen, come sit here."

Gwen touched Jack's hand as they changed seats, and he gave her a reassuring smile. She sat down next to Martha, and Martha said, "Gwen, you're looking so much better than you did when you left Cardiff. Is it just time that's helped you?"

Gwen shook her head, "No, Martha. I was still miserably sad and sorry when I came up here. I really thought I was going mad. I looked like hell, I felt like death. I was trying to follow my therapist's advice to write about how I felt, and it was a complete and utter failure." She took a deep breath. "I was almost at the end of my rope. I couldn't see any future. Then, one rainy day—Jack appeared at the end of my sidewalk." She flashed him a grateful smile.

"I couldn't believe it at first. I was sure I was dreaming, that he wasn't real," Gwen blushed, remembering her meticulous examination of Jack's naked body. "I thought I had finally crossed the line, all my 'repressed' dreams come true. But it was really him, he had come looking for me."

Jack started to make a comment, but Martha shushed him. "And it's been perfect since then?"

"Not exactly," Gwen admitted. She remembered the hours of intense discussions that had gone on into the night, ending in long hours of lovemaking. She remembered the moment when he had said he loved her, and she knew it wasn't said to prove anything, wasn't said in anger. It was tender, and real, and she remembered feeling that he had spoken the truth to her with no intention to mislead or lie. It was just a small moment, but she had opened her mind, her self, to him. The past was behind her, finally. She could breathe again. "There was one wonderful moment," she mused aloud.

"What moment?" Martha said.

Gwen sniffed away a tear. "Sorry, private thought." She looked at Jack, and saw his eyes shining. He understood, she was sure. He nodded to her.

"I think I can explain it," Jack said, holding a hand up to forestall Martha's comments. Her look told him to stay where he was, and talk. He took a deep breath, and Gwen thought that he looked frightened. For himself, but more for her. "About your nightmares," he began. "It seems that I'm causing them . . ."

Gwen sniffed her disbelief. "No," she said, "It's me."

From across the room, he made himself look directly at her, "I'm afraid it will kill you if we don't fix this. Sweetheart, Gwen," he implored. "you have to believe me. Your horrible dreams, they are my deaths. There are many more. And worse. I don't want you to have to live through all of them." He took another deep breath. "I'm so sorry."

"Why?" she asked, "Where did you die like that? I mean I've seen you . . . die, but not like this!"

He ran his hands through his hair in frustration. "Can't explain it," he said. "I just can't. Remember the time I was gone? You thought it had been only a few months, but for me it was much longer."

"You said you had died five hundred times—this, _this_ is what you meant?"

Jack nodded, and put his hand over his eyes, rubbing hard. "I tried to bury those memories, put them where I couldn't feel them any more. Somehow you've found the place in me where I hid them . . . and they're going to hurt you, love."

Gwen could only stare at him. "How long have you known?"

He exhaled heavily. "After the third or fourth time. I really tried to stop myself from thinking about it, hide the memories deeper. You still found them."

"You could have told me." Gwen turned to Martha. "How can this happen?" She put her hands to her cheeks, which were burning. "I'm not a telepath."

Martha looked at Jack for his permission, and he nodded at her. "Jack has had training, channeling his natural talents; and you told me something once about an ancestor of yours in Cardiff in Victorian times who closed the Rift . . ."

Gwen scoffed. "That's a family legend."

Martha took Gwen's hands. "Maybe not. Just because you've never had testing doesn't mean you aren't sensitive. One of the things that makes Jack such a compelling leader is that he's an exceptionally strong broadcaster. You've been in such close physical contact with him for a long time, and he loves you so much, I think you've penetrated his barriers."

"How could I do such a thing?"

Martha tried to explain. "Didn't you just say a few moments ago, that there was a moment? What was that about?"

Jack spoke. "It was when she decided to let me know her, right after I told her I loved her," his face coloured, "and she trusted me, really believed me. I felt it in my head, I heard her. I just didn't put it together."

"We've always had a special rapport," Gwen admitted, "but I don't understand why this 'transference' didn't happen with Ianto. You were utterly smitten with him, Jack."

"I don't know—I was torn between you and Ianto, confused . . ." He paused, and took refuge in his usual excuse. "You had a life with Rhys, I didn't want to destroy that."

"I couldn't have you, Jack, but I did hope you could be happy. You loved Ianto. I know he wasn't a second choice," Gwen said.

"No, not a second choice; an alternate, perhaps," he insisted. Gwen heard the pain in Jack's voice. "I did love him. But I've loved a lot of people," he shot a cautionary look at Martha, "I was determined not to interfere with your life. After Ianto died, I couldn't stand to watch, so I left."

Martha made a quiet addition. "But whenever Jack came back to Cardiff, he asked about you, Gwen. I told him what I knew, but then it was a few years before he returned again, and in that time . . . so much happened."

He stood up and paced the room, his hands fisted at his sides. "What I found out, though, was that no matter how far I went, no matter who or what I took up with," he drew a deep breath, "I wasn't ever going to find happiness without you." He gritted his teeth, "Now, my memories are destroying you." He sank into the chair again, averting his eyes from Martha's shocked face.

Gwen made wild gestures for Jack to stop talking. "But how are you destroying me? Jack, they're _my_ dreams!"

"They're my memories, Gwen," he said. "When you told me about them, I knew that they were mine." Jack straightened in the chair. "It's my fear that you're feeling. I've died, so many ways," he gestured, "dismembered, impaled, burned." Martha shook her head sadly as he continued. "At the time, I tried to endure because of the Master's threats to the Torchwood team, and the Doctor, and the whole world. What kept me sane was the hope of returning to you. Now I'm afraid I'll lose you." He leaned his head against the chair back, blinked back tears.

_In a world without you, I will always hunger,  
><em>_What I need is your love to make me stronger._

"What do we do?" Gwen asked, as Martha held her back from going to Jack's side.

"I told Jack earlier, this isn't my field," Martha said. "I think Jack needs to review his barriers, and Gwen, I think you have to find some ways to erect stronger boundaries. I think that these weeks and months of constant exposure to each other has worn down your natural defenses. You both need help. Serious help. Right away."

Gwen swallowed hard. She felt very small and insubstantial. She longed to . . . what? She didn't have any idea of what to do. She just wanted it to stop. She wanted Jack's arms around her. She needed to touch him. She felt her mouth go dry, and began to shake.

Jack took two strides across the room and swept her into his arms. She curled her arms around his waist, pulled him close, and started crying. Martha gave up the sofa to them and soothed Gwen. "It'll be okay, darling. The dreams will stop. You'll get back to normal. You just need to get some distance on this, and Jack needs to regain his control."

Gwen sniffed and swallowed hard. "Jack made me live again. I can't . . ."

"You know what a dependency is, Gwen," Martha said quietly. "And you know you can't afford to be like that. We've talked about this before." Gwen nodded. "When I get home, I'm going to find someone for you to talk to."

Gwen slept through the night after Martha left, but she was pretty sure that Jack didn't.

"I have an idea," Jack told Gwen, lolling in bed the next morning. "Martha thinks we should try to spend a little time physically apart, and we have to do that," he held up a hand to stop Gwen's protests, "until I can make some arrangements. It's only a little while, and . . ."

"I don't want to be apart from you!" she shouted, striking at him with fisted hands. "I'm not going to shut you out of my life!"

"Nothing will ever separate us for long," he said through his teeth, holding her wrists. "But I have to get hold of _myself,_ enough to stop you from hearing me."

She wept in his arms, "I'd rather have the dreams. I need you."

He buried his face in her hair. "We'll find a way," he promised. His mobile rang, and he groped for it, checking the display, "Martha?"

Jack listened intently, shaking his head and wearing a foolish grin. When he finished the call, he turned to Gwen with an odd expression. "We're taking a trip."

"Where are we going?"

He grinned at her confusion, "You'll see. Come to the window."

"What did you do?"

"Martha spoke with the right kind of Doctor, my Doctor," he said happily. "He's coming.  
>Listen . . ."<p>

Gwen had heard that wheezing sound only once before, long ago, just moments before Jack had disappeared years ago. She clutched at his arm in panic. _"Where are you going? You said you wouldn't leave me!"_

Jack wrapped his arms around her as she saw an old-fashioned police box _appear_ in the back garden. "I'm not going anywhere without you," he whispered into her ear, holding her close.

She shook free of him, and saw the door of the police box swing inward (that's wrong, she thought, those doors open _out_). A very long-limbed young man bounded up to the garden door, his brownish blond hair falling into his eyes. "Jack?" he called, rapping smartly on the doorframe. "Are you in there?"

The young man strolled through the open door, drifted past Jack, and looked Gwen up and down, smiling widely. "You must be the Gwen Cooper I've been hearing so much about from Martha. Pleased to meet you," he said, kissing her hand.

She threw a sideways glare at Jack. "_This_ is the Doctor?" she mouthed. She took in the silly bow-tie, the rather loud, checked jacket, and was he really wearing a red fez, with a tassel?

"I'm the Doctor. I've come to get you, and . . . are you ready to go?" He walked around the little bungalow. "This is a lovely place; location, location, location, yeah? I think we have time for a cup of tea before we leave. Oh, good," he said, plugging in the kettle. "Tea is a wonderful remedy for whatever ails you," he observed, setting three of the Cornishware mugs out on the counter and measuring tea into the teapot.

Behind his back, Gwen rolled her eyes at Jack. Surely this hyperactive _boy_ couldn't be the Doctor that Jack spoke so reverently about? Jack grinned back at her, his eyes sparkling.

"I heard that," the Doctor said over his shoulder. "Tea's made, though, so let's have some, and get going." He poured tea into the mugs, and handed it round, holding his, and sprawling in one of the kitchen chairs. "Been a while, Jack."

Jack took his mug and leaned back against the kitchen counter. "Yes," he answered coolly. There were many things unsaid between them, Gwen could tell. Neither of them seemed willing to talk in front of Gwen.

Gwen sipped from her mug and found the tea had been made precisely to her liking, and she hadn't even seen him add sugar or milk. "Thank you . . . Doctor," she said.

He waved a careless hand at her teapot. "No trouble at all," he said.

Gwen couldn't not ask. "You don't really seem . . . old enough to be the Doctor that Jack has talked about . . . I'm sorry if it's rude of me to say . . ."

"Appearances can be deceiving," he observed. He looked closely into her eyes. "You don't really seem old enough to be sharing," he gestured with his pointing finger at Jack, "this one's fears and bad memories."

Jack set his cup down on the counter with a bang. Gwen was startled, and the Doctor simply drained his mug, took Gwen's cup from her hands, put both of them onto the counter, and walked quickly to the door. "Shall we get on our way?"

Gwen let Jack lead her from the house and follow the Doctor to the door of the police box. She stepped inside, and wonder bloomed on her face as she took in the organic forms of the control room, the transparent floor, the sweeping staircases. "It's bigger . . ." she said, and then closed her mouth.

Jack put his arm around her shoulders as the Doctor started to run around what appeared to be the control console of a huge vessel. He pushed levers, pumped handles, and the wheezing noise started again. Gwen closed her eyes and shook her head, and felt Jack pull her close. _It doesn't matter, _she thought. _I have finally gone stark raving mad, and I don't care._

Gwen woke up alone. Her mind was foggy about what had happened after they entered the box that was so large on the inside. She vaguely noticed that she was cocooned in the softest of white sheets in a wide bed, and so comfortable that she could barely stir herself even to move, so she went back to sleep. When she opened her eyes again a while later, she was able to look around with interest. She sat up, climbed out of the huge bed, and found slippers (with feathers!) and a silky robe at the foot of the bed. It was like a very luxurious hotel room, all bells and whistles, but no windows. There were nightstands, soft lighting, and across the room, bookcases, and a Victorian fainting couch upholstered in pale horsehair behind a low table. The room itself was various shades of soothing blues and pale cream.

A large painting was hung on one wall, of fluttering white curtains that only half concealed the blue oceans beyond. She stared at it and moved closer to examine it. It looked more like a photograph, but was definitely a painting, she could see the brush strokes. She was completely transfixed by it for several minutes, but finally moved away. She blinked several times, reorienting herself, and moved slowly around the room, as if in a trance, touching the walls, the furniture. She found a door and rested her hand on the lever, hesitating to leave this . . . what? . . . calmness. She felt rested, refreshed, and suddenly wondered where the hell she was.

"Jack," she whispered. "Where are you? Where am I?"

Jack swept in out from somewhere behind her, and led her back to the bed. She burrowed into the covers again, moving away from him. She could hear . . . no, feel . . . soft musical tones and she pulled the sheets over her head, humming along with the song she could almost hear.

Jack pulled the covers away from her, smoothing her hair back from her face, and putting his hand to her cheek. "Time you woke up, sleepy," he said, kissing her forehead.

"Why? How long have I been asleep?" She felt around her on the bed. "Were you here?"

"I was in my room," he said, pointing to the partly open connecting door on the side wall. "It's been two days, more or less." He brushed her hair back again. "The Doctor said I had to wait until you woke up by yourself. You were very tired."

Jack was coatless, without his red braces, both sleeves of his shirt rolled to the elbow. It was a white shirt. He was wearing jeans. And trainers. None of this was making any sense to Gwen. "The Doctor?" she said muzzily, "the kid in the blue box?"

He laughed out loud. "Yes, the Doctor."

"Where is this?" she gestured around the room. "Where are we?"

Taking her hand, he said, "It's home, for now. We're in the TARDIS, in the intergalactic vortex. I think we're just, ah, loitering here."

Gwen struggled to clear her head. "A . . . TARDIS?"

There was a knock on the door, and the young Doctor stepped briskly into the room. "That would be Time and Relative Dimension in Space, TARDIS, yeah? She's a time-traveling vessel, and Jack's right, we're just 'loitering' here until you woke up. Now that you're awake, where would you like to go?"

Gwen sat in the bed, blinking like an owl, looking back and forth between the two men. "How the hell should I know?"

"Right, then," the Doctor said. "Jack said something about wanting to show you the moonrise on Woman Wept. Let's go there . . . I'll have to figure out exactly _when_ we should be there, but the TARDIS will get us there." He touched Gwen's hand. "I think she likes you as much as she likes Jack, but there you are . . ."

He left the room, still muttering to himself. Gwen looked at Jack, shaking her head. "Is he always like this?"

"In this incarnation he is," Jack sighed. "The first Doctor I knew had a different gravitas from this one; and the one between was different from this one, too . . ."

"Shut it," she said abruptly. "You're starting to do the same kind of double-speak he's doing. There are three of them?"

"No, it's the same _him,_ but he has had three different forms since I first met him." He handed her a cup from the tray he had carried into her room. "I can't begin to explain this until you've had some coffee at least. Come on, get dressed. I'll try to make this as clear as I can."

Gwen was still shaking her head at the stories that Jack had told her when she strolled down the hall to the kitchen where he was supposed to be making breakfast for her. Breakfast was on the table, but Jack wasn't in evidence. The Doctor was.

"Morning," he said, saluting her with his cup of tea. "Brekkies await." He directed her to a complete English breakfast set out on the table with a full place setting, including a glass of orange juice.

She picked up the fork and took the cover off the plate. "Good morning, Doctor. Do you happen to know where Jack has disappeared to?"

The Doctor waved a piece of toast in the air. "I asked a favor of him. He'll be a few hours. Gives us some time to get to know each other. How did you sleep?" he asked.

"Oh, it was glorious," she smiled. "I can't believe I slept the clock around, twice! What a comfortable bed and a lovely room. Thank you for having us."

He put the crusts of his toast into a dish. "Martha was quite insistent that I try to help you out, and I must tell you she was right: the dreams are Jack's memories of a very bad time. Have you ever been tested for psi potential?"

She shook her head no, "Jack says that he can sense that I have some abilities, but I've never noticed it. He said it's probably a family trait."

"You see, that's where all this trouble is coming from. Jack was trained, some time ago, of course, but you, Gwen Cooper, got through to him." He leaned toward her and tilted his head. "Tell me about your daughter," he asked abruptly.

Gwen dropped her fork at his sudden change of subject. "Excuse me?" She blinked.

"I've had some time to talk with Jack, and to learn a bit about you. He said you talk about your husband, but you never talk about Anwen."

She stood up, and her bottom lip quivered. She didn't seem to be able to form words. She teared up, and sat down as suddenly as she had stood up. "I don't."

"Will you tell me about her?" he asked. "Please."

"She was," Gwen began after a long silence, "my heart. She was a perfect baby, she wasn't fussy, she was always smiling. She was perfect in every way. She grew into a lovely child, smart, funny. We were so proud of her. She looked so much like Rhys; Rhys, turned into a beautiful princess. She loved her dad, and she was the apple of his eye." She paused to sniff back a tear.

"He used to dandle her on his knee, and tell her she could be anything she wanted to be, that her future was unlimited, thanks to her mommy, who kept the whole world safe." She grimaced. "The whole world, except for the people nearest to me. I couldn't do anything for Rhys. And it turns out, I couldn't even keep her safe." She shook her head.

"Why don't you talk about her, or even say her name?"

"I think about her," Gwen said, "but she'll never be anything other than ten years old, going off to school, in her little plaid skirt and red jumper. Her future is over, snuffed out. She was like a lovely vision of what might have been. Is that enough?" she asked, "Does that satisfy your curiosity?"

The Doctor looked at her from under his fringe with great compassion in his deep-set eyes. "Thank you for telling me about her."

"I loved her, and my life became so much less without her." She touched her heart. "And I thought I would surely die, but I didn't." She put both hands on the tabletop. "And because I didn't die, I was there when Jack finally came for _me._" She looked up at the Doctor defiantly. "And not you, not Martha, _no one_ is going to separate me from him."

He held his hands up defensively, "I wouldn't dream of trying to separate you, I assure you. Jack said very much the same thing."

"Why did you keep him away from me while I slept?"

"So you _could_ sleep," he said. "You did sleep. No dreams?" She nodded. "While you were sleeping, Jack was snug in the arms of the TARDIS." He went to the doorway. "The TARDIS is alive. For reasons I don't understand, she took a liking to Jack the first time they met, and it seems she has extended that liking to you."

"How do you know the TARDIS is a she?"

"Once upon a time," he mused, "I met a woman named Idris." He pulled himself together, "we've been together a long time, the old girl and me."

"How do you know she likes me?" she asked.

"She's been singing to you since you got here, don't you hear her?"

Gwen cocked her head and closed her eyes. "I have been hearing a sort of humming. It's almost subliminal." She looked at him closely, this good-looking young man in the narrow pants and bow-tie. "She's singing to me? What will that do?"

"Most people find it soothing. But she only does it if she thinks it will help you. Come with me to the control room," he invited her, "I'll show you a bit of how she works."

Gwen followed him down the twisting corridors, coming out at the top of the sweeping staircase. "I came into the kitchen from this direction," she said. "This staircase wasn't here then."

The Doctor waved his hand in the air. "She knew where you wanted to go and so she took you there. That's all you need to know, where you want to go." She watched him go to the controls, pushing some levers up, pumping others. The engines, or whatever they were, started up, and the wheezing noise began. His long fingers started poking at an old-fashioned typewriter keyboard. "I'm setting course for the planet of Woman Wept. I've been there before. I think I have. Jack wants you to see the moons rise," he poked another couple of buttons, "this should get us there in time."

"How did it get such an unusual name?"

"It's not that unusual, lots of places that have odder names. But there, the largest of the continental land masses is shaped like a weeping woman," he said. "I haven't been there since I put it back in place after the Medusa Cascade . . ."

"Is that when Jack was there?" she asked.

"I don't think he was ever there, but Rose Tyler told him about it. You know about Rose?"

Gwen thought for a moment. "She was your companion once, wasn't she?"

He nodded.

"Who is your companion now?"

The Doctor pushed more buttons, and didn't look up from his controls. "Most recently, a lovely lady named Amelia Pond, and her husband Rory." He glanced at Gwen. "She's very different from you, red-haired, actually."

Gwen looked around pointedly. "Will we meet them?"

"No," he said abruptly.

Gwen wandered away from the Doctor, and walked around the console, peering at it, but not touching anything. The way it looked, almost anything could be a control for something in this very unusual vessel. When she made her way around to the Doctor, she hesitated before touching his sleeve. "I'd really like to see Jack," she said. "Where is he?"

"He's working on that project I set for him," the Doctor said impatiently. "He'll be through in a few hours. You can sit around here, or go find something to do . . ." Suddenly, he stopped what he was doing. "I could show you the closet! You can find something to wear for when you get to Woman Wept. It will be warm there, you won't want leathers." He took her by the hand, and led her through a doorway to another set of doors leading to another corridor.

He threw open the door to a large high-ceilinged room filled with spiraling racks of clothing of all kinds, from all eras. "Here we are!" He led her up and down aisles between the racks, pulling things off the hangers and tossing them to her. "Try these," he said, "and these. Here . . ."

She laughed as she caught a lightweight flowery dress. "Thanks, I'll browse, Doctor." She stopped moving. "I have another question. Do you happen to know why Jack's dressed the way he is today? I've never seen him . . ."

He turned on her with a wide grin, "I think the TARDIS felt he needed a change of pace, don't you agree?"

She demurred. "She's got more power over him than anyone else, then. He just doesn't look like himself in jeans and trainers."

"I'll just leave you to this, Gwen. Take anything you like back to your room. The TARDIS will see that they fit you."

"But," she sputtered, "how will I find my room again?"

He paused in the doorway, "Just want to go find it," he said, "she'll get you there."

Gwen spent an hour or so browsing the racks, finding some loose linen trousers, some sandals, a little of everything that she thought she might need in a warm climate. She and Jack had come into the TARDIS with only the clothes on their backs, and this closet was definitely useful. She gathered her choices into her arms and opened the door. The corridor looked completely different from when she had entered, and she stepped out and closed the door behind her.

"My room," she said aloud. "I want to find my room." She took a hesitant step to the left, but turned to the right instead, and walked a short distance before she thought she 'knew' a door. She tapped on it, listened, and then opened it.

It was her room. She walked in, then stuck her head out into the corridor again. "How does that happen?" she wondered. She threw the clothes down onto the bed, now neatly made up, and went across the room to the door Jack had pointed out to her earlier that day. She tapped, and opened the door.

Jack's room was neat, very masculine, and much larger than her room. A few pieces of art, mostly black and white photography of vintage airships, hung on the dark copper walls. The couch against the wall was brown leather, and there was a worn leather club chair with a reading lamp in one corner of the room. His bookshelves were stuffed with books of all sizes, and he had a small dressing room in an alcove. He wasn't here, but this was definitely his place. She wondered why he would have traded this for a tiny bunker in the Hub with no real comforts.

Gwen went back to her room, closing the door softly. She would have to wait until he came for her. She browsed her own bookshelf, discovered a music device, chose music she liked, lay down on the pale couch, pulled up a knitted coverlet. She closed her eyes, and sighed. She let herself drift back to sleep.

Jack knelt by her side and stroked her silky hair back from her forehead, waking her gently. "I leave you alone for a few hours and you go back to sleep," he whispered into her ear. "I'm devastated."

Gwen stretched her arms out, and closed her fingers at the back of his neck. "Well, if you didn't keep disappearing, I might have more reason to stay awake." She pulled him close and kissed him firmly. "Where've you been?"

He sidestepped her question. "We're there," he said. "Want to come with me and watch the moons come up?" He offered her a hand to help her rise.

She decided to stop questioning the how-and-why of this odd traveling box. "The Doctor said it would be warm there," she gestured at the pile of clothes on the bed. "I need to get changed."

He led her to the bed, and lounged on it, toeing off his trainers and stretching his legs. "I'll watch," he said. "I like to watch you take off your clothes."

She slipped out of the clothes she was wearing, and he opened his arms. She went into his embrace willingly, and he shed his own clothes so quickly that she couldn't imagine how he had done it. Then they were making love hungrily, quickly. No art, just lust and need. The room hummed happily around them, almost loud enough to hear.

The Doctor waved them out the door, declining to accompany them, busying himself with some tools, doing something mechanical beneath the transparent floor. Jack opened the door and they stepped onto a pale blue sandy beach, still coloured by a setting red sun. They walked out under lavender skies to find a place to watch from. They found a knoll facing the purple ocean, covered in dusty teal sea grass, and Jack tramped down a clearing for them, making a seat for Gwen and lying on his back, with his head in her lap. "It'll be some time," he gauged, staring at the sky.

"What did the Doctor have you doing all day?" She asked, running her hands through his hair, still slightly damp from the shower they had shared.

"This and that," he murmured. Her hands rubbed circles on his temples, and he almost purred.

"Not going to tell me, huh?" she said. "Neither would he." She stroked his neck, "You know it only makes me want to know."

"I was resting," he admitted.

" 'Snug in the arms of the TARDIS,' he said. What does that mean?"

He wrinkled his nose, "I can't really tell you, Gwen. The TARDIS put me into a deep sleep, and I think—no, it's not thinking, I feel—that she helped reinforce my . . . mental barriers. I don't know how much time passed, or what actually happened, but I feel different."

She stroked his cheek and, with a smile, said, "You seemed to be completely up to par," which made him smile in return.

"The idea was to fix my mind," he chuckled. "and not fix what wasn't broken. It's working."

The light changed subtly, and the sky above them turned a darker shade of lavender, the clouds shot through with colours that changed so quickly that Gwen found she couldn't name them fast enough. Night fell abruptly, and the skies were darkening from behind them down to the ocean's horizon. It grew brighter as the moons began to show. She clasped hands with Jack, and he sat up to put his arms around her, pulling her hair back to nuzzle at her neck.

"First, the larger blue one will come up," he whispered into her ear. "Its name is Mercy. They say it has a face." The bluish moon rose above the horizon much faster than Earth's moon, and the second moon showed a sliver of light a few degrees to the right.

"The second moon to rise is the white one, Pride. It throws the brightest light," he held a hand up and its shadow was crisp on the blue sand. Pride was a larger moon, and it took a while to reveal itself fully. The third moon lagged behind by a few minutes. When it showed, Gwen drew a sharp breath. It was a deep periwinkle blue, almost invisible except for the darkness of the deep lavender sky.

"The third moon is called Perdition. You can hardly see it unless Pride rises slightly behind it and gives it a halo," he gestured, drawing a circle in the air around the small moon. "If it is too close behind it, Perdition just appears as a dark space in the starry night. But tonight, Perdition is almost next to Pride, and the surface is illuminated ever so subtly."

They watched the moons move across the sky, and as they rose higher, their colors shifted, untainted by the atmosphere. When they were high in the sky, the colours changed again, purer this time, and Pride gleamed like an enormous pearl. The blue moons grew paler; Perdition took on a purplish-gray cast, while Mercy showed its clear pale blue colour.

"It's lovely," Gwen said, laying her head against Jack's shoulder. The light of the white moon silvered her hair, and he had to touch it, smooth it, play with it. She turned her face to him, kissed him gently. "Thank you for bringing me here."

He enveloped her hands with his own. "Are you getting cold?"

She turned her face up to the sky again. "No, not really, I want to watch for a while longer. It's stunning."

When the moons were at their highest point, Jack pulled Gwen to her feet and they walked along the sandy shore at the edge of the waves. The curling edges of the water were phosphorescing as they broke against the blue land, the white moon's light highlighting the sparkles. Gwen took off her sandals, and walked into the warm water, lifting her skirts high to keep them dry, letting the twinkling warm water pool around her ankles.

Jack watched for a while before he lost his shoes and socks, rolled up his pants, and waded into the water to join her. It was almost dawn when they wandered back to the TARDIS.

"I'm feeling a bit jealous," Gwen told Jack the next morning when he kissed her before leaving to go spend the day with the TARDIS. They had slept separately again, and she was feeling neglected. "She gets a lot of time with you, and I have to amuse myself in the library."

"You could go to the pool," he said.

"There's a pool?"

"Sometimes," he said. "If you want one." He saluted her from the doorway and blew her a last kiss, shutting the door behind himself.

Gwen dressed quickly, found the kitchen, although she was certain that it hadn't been in that precise space the day before. She made toast and tea, and set off to find the pool. A few hours later, she joined the Doctor in the control room. She flopped down on one of the chairs behind the console.

The Doctor regarded her with some amusement. "Give up?"

"I've counted sixty-three rooms, and none of them the same. One of them had bunk beds!"

The Doctor smiled. "She's just fooling with you. I got rid of the room with bunk beds years ago."

She was careful not to touch him when she went to stand by him. "Doctor, how much longer will it take? I mean for Jack? Or is it me?"

"Both of you have 'adjusted' in these last few days, I think. She's pretty pleased with herself."

"The TARDIS is changing us?"

"Not really changing you, Gwen, just strengthening your mental barriers so you're not so sensitive to Jack. Jack just needed a tuneup. It's been a good thing, believe me. There is such a thing as too close."

She shook her head. "Everything you say to me makes me more certain that I'm hallucinating. The time we've spent in—on?—the TARDIS has been such a fantasy." She turned away from the console and moved toward the wall. "None of this can be real."

"I would've thought that it would be easier for you to accept the fantastic after your years with Torchwood."

Gwen sighed. "That was so long ago. It might well have been another lifetime." Her fingers trailed along the wall's textured surface. "I'm only experiencing life through my senses these days," she said in wonder. "Everything else pales." She turned to face him. "That piece of coral Jack kept on his desk felt just like this."

"Because it's a piece of a TARDIS," he said idly. "A few thousand years or so, it may grow into one." He tossed her a piece of dark stone, and she caught it. "This is for you; a keepsake to remind you of your time here."

She hefted the stone. It was dark and shiny, reflecting gleams from inclusions deep inside. "Thank you. What is it?"

"Pretty, isn't it?" He shot his cuffs, and hummed a little tune. "You should probably keep it near you for a few years, see if it changes."

Gwen set it on a ledge of the console. "It changes?"

He smiled at her. "Maybe."

"Nothing is straightforward with you, is it, Doctor?" Gwen asked. "Is this the lesson I am supposed to be learning here? That no questions will be completely answered? That there's no truth in anything?"

"There is truth, Gwen. You have to see it and recognise it to use it." He gestured to the staircase. "Jack is waiting for you, you may go to him, and all will be well. Take the stone."

Gwen could feel her face colour to blush rose. She shoved the stone into the pocket of her jeans. With one foot on the lowest step of the staircase, she turned to speak with him. "Doctor, thank you. He . . . trusts you. I don't know what went on between you so long ago, but he doesn't trust easily. I have to believe that you have his best interests at heart."

The Doctor nodded. "And yours."

Gwen found Jack lying on his own bed, eyes closed, and she approached him quietly. He smiled without opening his eyes as he sensed her approach. "Hello," he greeted her. "Are you trying to sneak up on me?"

She giggled. "I've spent the morning with the Doctor. He doesn't even seem so strange to me any more," she said, "and I think I might just love him a little bit." She sat on the bed next to him.

"Don't." He pulled her close. "That way lies madness," he said, kissing her. "You're better off with me," he ran his hands down her body, and found the stone in her pocket. "What's that?"

She pulled the irregular stone from her pocket and held it out for his inspection. "The Doctor gave it to me and told me to keep it close. It's just a pretty stone."

Jack whistled softly. "It's not _just_ a stone, Gwen, it's a porphyritic talisman. See the little crystals embedded in it? It's formed from molten rock, and these crystals are different from the groundmass of the rock. But look at the carving, can you make out the runes?" He turned it so the light caught the faint scratches. "That's ancient Gallifreyan. This is a very special stone, Gwen. He's given you a piece of his home planet." She raised an eyebrow. He continued, "It no longer exists. This is a precious relic."

She turned it over in her hands, paying closer attention to the reflected light deep within the stone. The runes stood out, now that she knew they were there. "Why would he give me something this important?"

"I don't know."

She sat up and reached over to put it on the nightstand by his bed. "I'll take good care of it, but right now . . ." and she turned back into his arms. "I've missed you, Jack," she murmured.

"I'm right here," he said.

_Every time you touch me, I become a hero,  
><em>_I'll make you safe no matter where you are.  
><em>_And bring you everything you ask for, nothing is above me,  
><em>_I'm shining like an candle in the dark, when you tell me that you love me.  
><em>_When you love me,  
><em>_When you tell me that you love me._

xxx


	4. Chapter 4

Title: **Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again, **  
><strong>Part Four—Coda<strong>  
>Author: veritas6_5<br>Fandom: Torchwood  
>Rating: M for adult situations<br>Pairing: Gwen and Jack  
>Words: 1,114<br>Classification: Ten years from now.  
>Genre: hurtcomfort, angst, new life  
>Disclaimer: All characters belong to BBC and RTD. I mean them no harm. No copyright infringement is intended. I just take them out to play with them. I'll put them right back.<p>

Beta: karaokegal, the finest ever

Summary: Staying here. I've found the one I've waited for.

**A/N:** This was originally intended as a one-shot, but the second and third parts didn't want it that way. Now there are three parts and a coda. Please review. I'm reposting all the parts together for the sake of coherence.

**Part Four—Coda**

Gwen rolled over in bed and shivered. Her feet were cold. She reached out for Jack's warmth, and found his side of the bed empty. She whimpered a bit, and threw back the covers to get up. She found Jack's discarded tee and slipped it over her head, reveling in the smell of his body clinging to the fabric. She padded barefoot into the lounge and kitchen, looking for him. She finally found him out in the garden, lying on a padded lounge chair, staring at the sky.

She whispered his name, and he turned his head to her. "What are you doing out here?" she asked him.

"Just looking at the stars," he replied softly. He moved over a bit on the lounge so she could lay down next to him. She rested her head on his shoulder, cuddling close.

"You feeling stifled?" she asked him, hating herself for asking.

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "No," he said patiently, "just looking at the stars. They're really beautiful tonight. There's no moon, and you can see the Milky Way."

She looked up at the night sky. "It is lovely," she agreed, and hugged him tight again. "I woke up and you were gone," she complained. "My feet are cold."

Jack pulled the knitted afghan up from the bottom of the chair and wrapped Gwen in it, tucking it around her feet. "You won't get warmed up out here," he said. "It's getting chilly in the evenings."

"I will if you hold me," she countered.

"I'm holding you, sweetheart," he whispered into her ear, "I'm not going anywhere." She shivered, and he continued. "You don't have to worry every time you miss me."

"I don't," she said sleepily. "It's just that my feet were cold." She wiggled against him. "I'm warming up. I'm gonna go back to bed." She put her hands to his cheeks and kissed his face.

"I'll be right along," he assured her. "Save me a space."

She giggled, and scurried back into the house, bouncing into the bed, and pulling the covers up to her chin. It had been more than six months since their return from Woman Wept, and that strange trip with the Doctor and his little blue box that had marked such a turning point for her; for Jack, and their life together.

It was close to a year since he had found her here in the north, trying to hide from life, and now it was almost the end of the summer, she realized. She closed her eyes, trying to go back to sleep, but Jack slipped between the sheets before she drifted off, and slipped his hands up under the shirt she still wore, caressing her sides and her breasts. She moved against his hands, holding one hand still against her chest.

"You always do that with me," he said.

"Feeling your heart beat," she explained. "I love the sound and the feel of your heart, and how alive you are to me." She held his large hand in hers. "I was just thinking how lucky we've been this year."

His hand curled and cupped her breast. "Yes," he breathed. "Lucky."

She turned her back to him and he spooned against her, his breath warm against the back of her neck. "I love you," he said. "I wasn't leaving you, you know that."

Gwen nodded. "I know, you promised, and I believe you. But there's a powerful attraction for you in those stars, isn't there?"

He pressed his lips to her neck. "There is," he said. "But it's not as powerful as the one keeping me here." His arms were strong around her, and his legs entwined with hers. He slipped the shirt up and over her head, tossing it to the floor. "I like you naked in my bed," he said. She surrendered herself entirely to him. He was kissing a line from the nape of her neck down her spine, and the feel of his lips made her body flush with pleasure. "You don't have anything to get up early for tomorrow, do you?" he asked quietly.

"No," she said, "nothing."

He pushed his hands into her hair, tangling the soft strands in his fingers, while his mouth continued exploring her back, licking and occasionally biting gently at her soft flesh.

She shifted her body suddenly, turning in his embrace to rub her face against his chest, licking a line up his neck to his chin. Then she nestled her head into his neck, pushing her fingertips up the side of his neck to the sensitive spot behind his ear, and around the back of his neck, caressing the cowlick where his hair never would lie flat. "I love you, too. So much. You saved my life. You are my life."

"Don't say that," he reproved her with a kiss to her lips. "Your vitality is what I treasure about you. You give me meaning."

She pushed his shoulder, "Oh, you! I must call this meeting of the Mutual Admiration Society adjourned." She sighed. "We should go back to sleep, or we'll be rubbish in the morning."

"You said you didn't need to get up early," he said, his lips moving against her throat.

"I don't."

"Kiss me," he implored, "just kiss me."

"You know what that will lead to," she said.

"Yup," Jack said with satisfaction, moving his hands on her body in the way she loved.

She gave herself up to the sensations of his touch, and reached for his erection pressing into her belly, wrapping her hand around it and making him moan with pleasure. At the same time, she was kissing him assiduously, passionately, moving slowly down his torso until she reached the curly hair wreathing his penis. She moved her fingers through the thicket and cupped his balls, gently pressing and rolling the firm lobes in the fingers of her other hand. She pulled back the foreskin of his penis and ran her tongue around the bared head, touching the tip of her tongue to the tender slit. He gasped, writhing under her touch, but carefully not pulling away from her.

As she sensed him nearing ejaculation, in one fluid movement she braced herself on her arms, and drew him into herself, and the warmth of her enveloped him and pulled him to his climax. She came powerfully along with him and then slumped atop his length, deliciously tired and ready to sleep.

"You howled!" he said.

Gwen nodded against him. "Mmm. Sleepy now."

He pulled her over and she nestled tightly into his side. He murmured wordlessly into her ear, and she sighed deeply, already half asleep.

xxx


End file.
